As Long As You're Mine
by JIBBSFOREVER in Paris
Summary: What would an extra child bring into the McCord's life? What if her birth was questionable? What if... things aren't what they seem. And... what happens when that becomes public knowledge.
1. Chapter 1

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"JASON!" Elizabeth called into the living room. "I need this trash taken out!"

She could almost hear the huffing as he stood up from the couch. Instead she focused on the eggs. They were so runny – but if she let them cook just too long – it seemed they'd burn in seconds.

But she did manage to tell Jason, "If you'd have taken that out last night, you'd be able to play Xbox now."

"Oh, someone slacking on their chores?" Henry asked as he walked down the stairs, his striped pajamas and t-shirt fitting the entire Saturday aesthetic of the house.

"I'm sorry for working on homework last night." Jason smarted off as he walked out the door, letting the kitchen door slam just a little harder than was comfortable with the others in the room.

A quick peck on the cheek, and then Henry walked to the kitchen table, grabbing the paper and his glasses before sitting down. Putting his glasses on, and then she watched him look across the table where Allison was sitting, phone in hand, not even acknowledging anyone around her.

Back to her eggs, Elizabeth could only imagine the look her husband was giving their second oldest child. Still just a little bit too watery, and clumpy in weird places, the eggs needed more heat, or that's what she thought. Turning up the burner, she beat Henry to the comment as she cautioned, "Ali, no electronic devices at the table."

"But mom." Ali whined, "It's Saturday."

Elizabeth gazed up at her, over the rim of her glasses, and just shook her head, "Just cause it's the weekend doesn't mean we…" And she stopped. As she saw her husband reaching for the remote and turning on the TV in the corner of the kitchen.

And then she heard smirking behind her, "What was that you were saying, Mom?"

"Jason… don't sass… your mother…" Her husband said, in spurts, as he watched the newscaster spouting something about the weather.

Elizabeth could do nothing but smile as she watched her family. Well, half of the family. Her daughter turned the hciar and began to watch the news, her husband pouring a cup of coffee and kissing Ali on the head before he sat back down. And Jason…

She turned around to find him standing over her shoulder. His blue eyes jumping with laughter he kept inside as he smirked and said, "Mom, what are you cooking?"

Then she cussed under her breath even before she looked down to find the eggs burned to the side of the pan. "Ugh!" And she pulled the pan off the burner.

"Frozen waffles?" Henry absentmindedly called back to her without even thinking about it.

Scraping the tops of the mounds of black and yellow, she slowly said, "I think we can still…"

A unanimous "NO" resounded from the family. And she just tossed the pan into the old farmhouse sink, and said, "Fine then. I thought I could finally…"

Jason had moved and sat down at the table, and asked Henry, "Do you buy an extra dozen eggs every week for mom to burn just so she feels like she's cooking?"

"Hey!" Elizabeth called out, "That's not true…"

The quiet laughter became a muffled attempt for everyone around her to keep her from feeling bad, and she added, "I mean… maybe the last few…" Ugh. It had been every week. She'd tried so hard. "I've been reading a book about how to make eggs…"

"Nope." Jason smiled and shook his head, "It's not working. Return the book."

Henry stood up and walked over ot her, putting his arms around her shoulders as he hugged her from behind and whispered, "Your eggs might not have any hope." Then he gently kissed her ear, eliciting a giggle from her, "But I still love you."

Before she knew it, he'd thrown the frozen waffles into the microwave, and she'd set out the syrup after scraping the burned egg bits into the trash can. They worked well in tandem.

While everyone scrounged for the waffles, Bess looked outside, and asked, "Has anyone seen Emma?" The late fall leaves dead on the ground, a light dusting of Virginia snow from the night before littering the ground. "She wasn't in her bed when I walked by this morning…"

Absentmindedly, Henry just shrugged, "Bess, you know she probably just lost track of time."

"I swear she'd live in the barn if she could." Ali scoffed between the bites of waffles.

Bess walked over to Ali and playfully slapped Ali's shoulder, "Hey! Don't talk about your sister like that." She sat down, and tried to take a bite of waffles. But she hesitated.

And Henry could see that.

And while she looked at the door, biting the bottom of her lip, he said, "Oh, just go out and check on her."

She smiled at him as she pushed her chair out, and went to grab her boots.

"You just wanted an excuse to go see the horses this morning again, didn't you?" Jason called out.

She flipped her hair behind her as she pushed the screen door open, "Right on!"

Still pulling her coat on, she walked down the pathway to the fence, marveling in the wonderful house and stables they had now. The light snow mingled with gravel crunched under her boots as she looked down the fence line, watching for any sign of a rider on one of the six horses out in the field.

Once she reached the barn, she slid open the door and called out, "Emma?" The dust from the hay caught the sunlight from the open door as she walked In, the smells of a farm making her feel even more at home. Glancing past the saddle room and down the row of stalls, she walked while calling out, "Emma? Are you in here?"

Then from the last stall, she heard a quiet, "Shhhhh!"

Picking up her speed, she reached the last double stall and stopped.

There, she saw Farris, the chestnut mare, in one corner, enjoying his breakfast from the trough with loud chewing.

In the other corner, a little form sat with her back to Bess, her legs crossed Indian style in front of her. The grey snow hat had bunched up to the top of her head, which matched the oversized coat on her small frame.

"Emma, what are you…"

Then Emma turned, one finger to her lips as she again shushed her, and then turned and pointed.

And Bess now saw why.

There, in the corner, a grey and white mother cat blinked back at Bess while little newborn kittens nursed, nestled in the hay.

"Oooo" Bess whispered, walking over and sitting down next to her daughter. "So this is why you missed my egg debacle."

Emma's blue eyes were wide with curiosity and they never left the kittens. "Look how little they are." She whispered. Then laid her head on Bess' shoulder, and said, "I know I missed breakfast but I just couldn't leave…"

Placing a soft kiss on her daughter's snow cap, she rubbed Emma's shoulders while saying, "Little kittens or burned eggs – you made the right choice."

Then those little blue eyes carefully looked up at Bess, the stray blond curls bouncing out of their pigtails underneath her cap. Her teeth bit her lip as she asked, "Mom, can I keep one?"

"Emma…" Bess hesitated, biting her own lip as she looked over at the little fur balls in the corner, their bodies barely moving as they nursed and slept. Henry would say no. Henry would say that the barn cats are better in the barn, that their destiny was outside with the mice.

"Please, Mom?" Emma began, "I'll promise I'll take care of it! I won't even use it to annoy Jason!"

Bess quietly laughed, and snuggled the hopeful face into her jacket, "Em, you know you wouldn't last one minute without trying to annoy your brother."

"Please…"

"I'll talk to your dad." Bess said, and stood up, "Now, young lady, it's time for some frozen waffles." 

Emma stood up, carefully, and put her hand in Bess' as they walked out. "After can I come and watch the kittens?"

Bess pulled the barn door closed. "After breakfast you can come out and help me clean out this stinky barn."

"You know I don't mind doing that, right Mom?" Emma skipped along in front of her. "It's quiet."

Bess watched her little girl run down the snowy path and vault over the fence instead of walk around it. She was always so at home here on the farm, always finding some little animal to befriend and take care of. Out riding before the sun came up. Staying out in the barn or in the pastures with the horses until Bess or Henry called her in as the moon came out.

Bess saw so much of her own self in Emma, the blond curls, the free spirit, feeling at home outside in the fresh air. Horses were better friends than girls at school, and watching kittens being born beat sleeping in any weekend.

As she walked into the warm kitchen, she watched Henry reach out and tickle Emma, watched her laugh as he reached over and stole some of her waffles, watched as she fought back at him, as he pulled her into his lap and tickled her.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think that her family could be sitting here, together, operating as one family instead of the two she thought she'd fractured them into.


	2. Previously

SECOND CHAPTER - PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVEW!

"If you go to Baghdad, I don't know what it will look like when you get back."

Those words her husband said days before still thundered through her mind, a quiet pounding that matched the jarring of the armored vehicle through the dark desert.

They'd barely spoken after she'd walked into the kitchen three nights before. Stood there while he was in front of the sink. And she'd point blank said, "I'm going, Henry."

He'd just stared out the window.

"It's just something I have to do."

He said nothing.

For the next two days.

She'd packed her bags and slept alone in their bed.

Saying goodbye to the kids had been so hard – hugging and kissing each one of the girls, promising that she'd write as much as possible. Picking up the toddling Jason and pressing her lips against his forehead and whispering, "Please remember me, little buddy."

She'd then stood back up, and looked at her husband.

The man she'd shared everything with. The wonderful moments of their dating experience. The tricky first years of marriage. The birth of their children. 9-11, curled up in a fetal position as they both cried.

Her husband. Her soulmate. Her confidant. Her. Henry.

And his blue eyes pierced hers, and the tears were real on his cheeks.

She'd just bit her lip, and said, "Goodbye, Henry."

All she could do – all she could even think of was to walk out of there – knowing how much her decision to go serve her country would forever change their relationship.

Then he'd begged her.

As her hand was on the doorknob. "Elizabeth, don't go." A plea. Full of grief and anger and desperation.

And she'd just swallowed hard, and said, "I love you."

The halting of the convoy jarred her out of her memory, and she disembarked from the vehicle, hating the gritty feeling of the sand that whipped into her face, even in the middle of the night. The wave of heat that hit her smack in the face as she walked across the small camp and made it to the tent where they'd stay for the night.

But lying on her cot, staring up into the darkness, she felt the first tear run down her face as she remembered, "I don't know what it will look like when you get back."

It would forever be different.

Maybe he'd find someone who could stay home and take care of their children. Maybe he'd be distant and despise her for her choice. Maybe he'd forever hold this against her.

But one thing she was certain of as she turned on her side and brushed a tear away – she was certain that it would never, ever be the same.


	3. The Job Offer

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Bess' mind went back to that night in Baghdad – as she held the phone in her hand that Jason handed her – as she watched the convoy pull up to the house. Lights flashing. The president of the united states in that car.

But still her mind went back.

The nights that followed.

The loneliness. The endless work that she'd wished had distracted her. The danger – the close calls. The sadness. The death that surrounded her.

The little glimmer of hope her friend had been for her – coming to visit during an intense mission.

She watched Conrad get out of the SUV.

And her heart raced – him there, in his long black coat, a purpose on his face as he walked to the house surrounded by his detail.

And she heard Emma behind her, "Mom, what's happening?"

Bess swallowed against the lump in her throat – and just looked at her little girl, and tried to sound like she had some sort of control right now.

And she could only say, "I don't know. But… just stay out here and let me go see, ok?"

Emma's mind was lost as she watched the security enter the house first, her eyes wide at the big display.

But all Bess could think as she walked up to the house. Of all the thoughts pounding htrough her head – all she could think was that he was here.

The President of the United States was here.

Conrad. Dalton.

She nodded politely at the security detail, and walked into the house. Their house.

"Bess." Conrad greated her from the living room.

Fear gripped her heart, watching the most powerful man in the free world smile at her.

Then she noticed Henry.

At the top of the stairs.

His eyes wide, standing there in his Saturday jeans and sweatshirt.

She had to make sure her mouth was closed as she answered the President, "Mr. President." Then she stepped forward, and asked, "I'm…" She stuttered,

Always taking control of the situation, Conrad finished, "A little surprised to see me?" Then his charming smile, a smile she knew he'd used on diplomats all over the world. Then, his big hands gesturing her toward the kitchen, he politely asked, "Can we talk in private?"

She didn't know what to say.

She didn't want to tlak about it.

It couldn't be the time. Not after he'd just been elected. Not when his marriage was perfect, at least on the news.

And not when her life just seemed to be settling into place. Her and Henry were in a wonderful place, despite everything. Their children were wonderful – and so used to their life now. They had a farm. It was.

It couldn't be the time.

And she looked up at Henry, still unable to speak. What would Henry think? What could he possibly think about all of this? She wanted to reassure him, wanted to tell him that she had no idea that POTUS would show up at their house – that hadn't been the agreement. And she never wanted Henry to think anything differently.

It wasn't until Henry nodded, so simple – but it was enough to give Elizabeth the courage to nod at Conrad, and say, "Sure, the kitchen?"

Conrad smiled and walked into the country kitchen, and Elizabeth just shot Henry a worried glance. And then she stepped back, leaned over the railing, and asked, "Can you? The kids?"

Another nod, and then a loud, "Kids, time for some OUTSIDE WORK!" And groans from Jason and Allison.

But she walked into the kitchen, her hands shaking, and sat down.

She stared at her hands on the table, hating how much her chest felt restricted as hse tried to get enough air into her lungs.

Then she listened as Conrad asked his detail to leave the room.

And as soon as the kitchen door closed behind them, she found her courage.

Her voice, shaking, still held conviction as she stared the man across the table straight in the face, "Conrad, you can't do this." He held his hand up to quiet her, but she shook her head and whispered, "No, you agreed you would stay out of it. That was the deal." Her hands found their courage and gestured around the room. "You can't just change your mind and think you can waltz right in here and…"

"Elizabeth!" A loud silencing tone from the President silenced her.

And his cold stare was accompanied by a smile. "I don't want to change how things are."

She relaxed a little. "Then why are you here?"

He shook his head in amazement, and leaned close to her, "Bess, I want you to be my Secretary of State."

The words ran through her head for what seemed like hours as she tried to understand. Secretary of state? She even shook her head fast and wrinkled her eyebrows as she muttered, "What?" Secretary of State? "What?" She asked again, a little louder this time.

He nodded, "We need diplomatic representation, and I know that you are the only person I want for this job."

Her mouth fell open again. Of all the things that could've happened with Conrad Dalton coming to their home, this was never on her list of things to worry about.

She'd worried about whether he wanted to change their terms of agreement. Worried that he wanted to be more involved. Wanted to change their lives again.

But this?

"Conrad…" She tried to find the words, "I can't… I…"

"Bess, you are the one I wanted for the job when I was first elected. But I let advisors talk me out of it." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, "You were a damn good analyst, and you have the experience for this job."

A good analyst? The last mission she'd been on had been Baghdad. Ten years ago. The mission that had changed their lives forever.

"This country needs someone who is willing to not be a politician, someone who doesn't want to play the game. Someone who is willing to take risks and look at situations from a different point of view."

Secretary of State?

Finally she found words. She had to ask. Leaning forward across the table, she pointedly asked, "Is this at all because of what happened in Baghdad?" Then she pounded her index finger down into the table in front of her and said, "Because I don't need anything from you, and we agreed…"

"Stop." A quiet command came from the President. He shook his head and said, "I want you for this job because you can do it. The right way." He waved his hand, "Not because of the past, Bess, you have to know I'm a better man than that."

She knew Henry would have a different description of a man than Conrad.

He continued, "If eleven years of silence isn't enough to prove that, I want to promise you personally…" He looked her dead on, and with conviction, said, "Nothing about our arrangement is going to change."

"How can I…" She started to question him.

"Bess, do you want the job?" He leaned back in his chair, "If anyone else was offering you the job, would you take it?"

She thought a minute, and then nodded, "It's a way to change the world…" She left out the part about atoning for her mistakes in the past.

Conrad stood up, and nodded his head, "Then you need to take this job." He paused, turning to walk out, "Of course, talk to Henry."

He made that sound so simple. As if that was just a drop in the bucket. That conversation would be horrendous.

"But, I'm not taking no for an answer."

Then she sat there in her kitchen, alone, listening as the SUV's drove away.

And she just sat there, stunned. Confused. And, unsure of the reason, deep down, she wanted to take the job. Wanted to make a difference.

Henry walked into the kitchen.

His face full of concern as he walked over, and set his hand on her shoulder, "What… what did he say?"

She quietly breathed out, "He wants me to be Secretary of State…"

And their eyes met, and she found the matching surprise and confusion in her husband's gaze.

He started ot massage her shoulders as he asked, "Do you think… is that a real offer? Do you think…"

She finished his question, "That he has alternative motives?" She shook her head, "Henry, I really don't think so." Then she turned around in her chair, and faced him. "He's left us alone for almost eleven years… why, when he's in the spotlight of the whole country, would he want to ruin that?" She was talking herself through the whole thing even as she explained it to Henry. "Why would he suddenly want to change everything?" Then she stood up. "I think it's a real offer. He really wants me for Secretary of State."

Then she noticed how Henry looked at her, with uncertainty and questioning.

And she simply said, "But Henry, this one is up to you." He deserved at least that. "If you say you're uncomfortable, or if you just simply don't want me to do this, there is NOTHING that will make me do it." A complete reverse from their conversation years before.

A few minutes went by, Henry leaning against the sink and staring off as he thought.

She just stood there, unwilling to even consider the option until Henry was ok with it.

And then.

He asked her, "Do you… want to?"

Secretary of State? Ability to change their diplomatic status in the world? Being able to change the presence of America on the world stage? She nodded.

Then. "And you really feel that there's… nothing that's going to hurt our family? Nothing that's going to… hurt her?"

Bess shook her head, "I really don't think so, Henry." She walked over to stand in front of him, "He made it very clear that he didn't want anything to change."

Henry just looked into her eyes, his show of concern and questioning beginning to fade. Then his hand reached out and touched her side, and she fell against his chest, wrapping her arms around her wonderrufl husband.

And then, as he placed a kiss on her forehead, he laughed as he said, "Madam Secretary…" Then she looked at him, a smile on her face, "Has… a very… nice ring to it."


	4. Chapter 4

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"Ma'am…" Blake's voice was drowned out again by all of the things going through her mind.

Russel Jackson in her office. Again.

Nadine standing there in the lobby of her office. "We need to talk about the dinner tonight."

Bess tried desperately to keep a smile on her face when all she wanted to do was scream out obscenities for people to stop talking and let her think.

But instead, she turned to the door of her office, and said, "Let me talk with Russel Jackson first, Nadine, then we can talk about the polygamist king we're going to be hosting."

She knew the little dig she tossed at Nadine about the wives of the king – she knew it took it's mark as Nadine swallowed hard and said, "Yes, Ma'am."

And Blake tried to get her attention again, "Ma'am… there's a situation…"

And she held her hand up, and said, "Just let me deal with the beast in my office before we introduce any more world rattling news…"

Without waiting for an answer, she walked into her office and was immediately greeted with Jackson's usual rude and probing questions.

"Why haven't you talked with the stylist?"

Bess set her bag down on the chair and rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Russel? Is this the most pressing thing I need to do right now?" And with that, she plopped down into her chair, "I'm in the middle of attempting to rescue two boys, planning a dinner with a man who completely stands against everything we as American women stand for, and now you want me to be concerned about what I look like?"

Russel looked desperately irritated as he shook his head, "Its not my decision!" He threw his hands into the air, "The President want you to look the part of a Washington diplomat."

Bess just stared out the window. And she began to ask herself just why it was irritating her so much that they had gotten her a stylist. It wasn't even that she felt as if they didn't think she could dress herself. She knew her professor attire from the University wasn't up to par with DC styles and trends. She knew that she probably should just cave and act the part. It would be easier.

And then she realized it. And hse shook her head. "I really wouldn't mind getting someone to help me figure out what the fashions of the city are, Russell."

"Thank God!" He exclaimed, "Now I can go back to my job of…"

And she shook her head, the thoughts forming faster and faster. "But Conrad is not going to tell me how to look for him. I won't do that."

The silence from the man who always had words spoke volumes.

And she bit her lip, and then firmly said, "I will do my job. I will serve at the pleasure of the President. That's what I signed up for." And then she stood up, her hands on her desk as she glared at Russell, "But I do not dress for the pleasure of the president."

Russell's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open, "Bes…" he barely breathed, "I don't think that's…"

That's what had been bothering her. That it had been the president's directive. "So you tell Conrad if he has a problem with me not dressing with clothes that fit what he wants for me, he can come and tell me himself. And we can have a conversation about why it is he thinks he can bring me to Washington to do whatever he wants me to do – including dress my body."

And Russell just looked at the ground, and nodded his head, "I never thought of it as looking like that. And… I don't think He meant it to be like that…"

Bess just shook her head. She hadn't realized why it had bothered her so badly until now.

Russell said, "I know that this whole working relationship has a different level…"

"You mean the fact that my boss is a man I had an affair with, that my husband and I raised the child from that affair, and if anyone here found out, it would shake the whole political field of the country?" Bess just let all the frustration fly, "So when he suggests that I need to dress a different way, it's very easy for me to see that as something other than just a boss relaying stuff to his subordinate?"

It was quiet for a second. In which Russell shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, it is complicated."

And Bess quieted as she added, "I gave up a lot to come here because I thought I could do something." And she looked at the family picture on her desk, "I'm not going to have my body used as a pawn for him to do what he wants with it."

It was as if understanding flowed between them – Russell saw her point of view. Saw how hard things could be.

And Bess took the last word.

"My husband can tell me what he likes to see me in." Bess walked over to the door, opening it, as Russell walked through, "Conrad can submit his tastes to Henry if he wants that changed."

Russell nodded. And said, "You could tell him yourself." Bess wanted to shake her head no – that she didn't want to… until Russell said, "He wants to see you about the two boys. I'll meet you over there."

She wanted to whine and complain. But instead she grabbed her bag and coat from the chair. She served… even though all she wanted was a few minutes of peace.

But as she walked out the door, she saw Blake almost about to explode with news of something. She quickly asked, "Blake? What's wrong?"

His fingers fiddled nervously in front of him, as he walked behind her as she walked out to his desk, "Ma'am, I didn't know the protocol for…"

And the minute Bess saw it, she knew why he was nervous.

Because there in the middle of her office-waiting room stood a completely dirt-covered Emma.

Her blond hair held bits of dirt, and her school uniform shirt had streaks of dirt with a rip right through one of her sleeves. Her knee was bleeding – and her lip looked about twice the size it should be. And, by the size of the bruise forming around her left eye, Bess knew that eye would be swollen shut in just a few minutes.

"I didn't know what to do… Blake said, "The school called and said if we didn't come pick her up they would send her to the hospital. And Henry is in class, and I didn't want to just take her home and leave her alone because all the others are at school…"

Bess walked over to her little girl, who, from the way she was standing, knew she was in trouble.

"Em. What happened?" Bess asked. She watched as the little girl's eyes avoided eye contact, and her shoulders shrugged.

"Bess." Russell's voice urged her, "We need to go now."

"James Connell is an idiot." Emma snidely retorted.

This wasn't going to be solved now. It couldn't be.

"Blake…" Bess began,

Blake shook his head, and began to shake as he quickly said, "Ma'am, you know I'll do anything for you, I'll go anywhere, and do even the worst jobs ever. But I don't know how to take care of kids… and I've got that meeting to arrange for the king of…"

Ugh. Bess wanted to curse. Of course – they had the dinner to arrange. And if hse was on her way to the White House for an extended amount of time – she couldn't leave the team with a renegade child to take care of.

And again, Russell, "Hurry!"

She looked down into her defiant child's eyes, and said, "You'd better have a good explanation for all of this." When Emma opened her mouth, Bess just silenced her as she turned her around and said, "But not right now. Now you're coming with me."

A whine, "Where?"

They walked quickly down the hallway as Bess said, "The White House."

###############################################

As they walked in through the diplomatic entrance, Bess reached down and tried to wipe some of the dirt off of Emma's face. "Now, you listen here, young lady." Of course this wasn't going to be ok. Or it could – Bess would go into the oval office, she'd talk about things with Conrad – talk about the diplomatic things she could do to get the kids back. She'd figure out how to politely decline a personal stylist, and then, they'd go home. Oh, how she hoped Henry would hear his voicemail she'd left for him – telling him to come and pick the little ragamuffin up as soon as he could.

But for now, she wanted to make sure it didn't look like she was taking her little miscreant into the White House.

"OW! Mom!" Emma whined, "You're hurting my face!"

Bess brushed down Emma's shoulders and watched as flecks of dirt fell onto the carpet, "Well, you should've thought of that before you got into a fight." Stepping back, she surveyed the child, knowing she still looked like she'd just been pulled off the playground after having gotten into a fight. "Now, you are going to sit in the chair, and you're going to be quiet. And you're not going to move a muscle…." She watched as Emma started looking around the room, already bored with what Bess was telling her. Bess reached down and tilted Emma's chin up, "Listen, you're already in deep. But if you want to have any hope of not being grounded for the next four years, you'd better sit there like a statue, do you hear me?"

Emma just nodded.

And when Bess made sure she was sitting there – outside of the Oval office – and gave her the stink-eye as she walked into the office – she hoped Henry would hurry.

"Think this is the best idea?" Russell asked about Emma.

To which Bess, already at the end of her rope, shot him a look of disgust, "Don't even start with me, do you hear me?"


	5. Chapter 5

This room was getting boring.

She'd looked all around the room – she'd looked at the big pictures on the walls – all the old paintings. For a while, the chair next to her had become a place to put her feet, to throw her legs over the arms of the chairs and pretend to sleep. And then she'd realized there was a lady over at the desk in the corner – always typing on the computer – looking over at her every once in a while over her glasses. Her eyes observing Emma, making her feel like an animal in the zoo. Emma had soon ignored the lady – it was easier.

Instead she just watched her legs swing back and forth in front of her, once wincing when her skirt had rubbed against her scraped knee.

She swung her legs harder as she thought more about that mean boy, James. He'd been teasing her for weeks. Ever since she got to school.

He was one of the cool guys, always picking on the new kids.

And Emma was the newest kid.

Everyone there all had important families. Families that had names and lots of money.

Something everyone reminded her about.

"Your mom is the Secretary of State?" They'd asked the first day. And Emma had nodded with enthusiasm – thinking it woul good thing.

But it wasn't.

Ever since then, they'd all made fun of her – saying her mom couldn't even dress, that she always looked like she just came fresh off the farm.

That's where Emma's nick-name had came from. Farm-girl.

But today.

Emma's fists clenched in the chair as she thought about how James had come up to her – with all his friends behind him. After she'd scored at kick-ball. She was really a good runner.

And he said, "Where'd you learn to run? On a farm?"

Emma had just smiled and nodded, "Yeah. And I beat you. Maybe you should come visit my farm."

He'd scrunched up his face – and said, "Gross. My dad is much better because he doesn't have to have a farm."

Emma had just shrugged – because he could think whatever he wanted to.

Then he'd said something else.

Something mean.

"Your mom should go back to the farm – she doesn't know what she's doing here in the real world." And then he'd grinned down at her and had slyly said, "She's just a country bitch."

Emma had enough.

She'd growled through clenched teeth, "Take it back!"

And he'd just laughed and said, "We need a real secretary of State… Not someone like…"

To which Emma had sent a hard, straight punch right through his nose.

Blood – and he couldn't believe his little perfect face had been broken by a girl like her.

And they'd wrestled and tumbled over the field until a teacher came to separate them.

And now, she sat for what seemed like hours in the waiting room – just sitting there – waiting for someone to come get her. Whether it was Dad or her mom – she just wanted to go home.

She carefully touched her fingers to her eye, wincing in pain.

"You got a real nice shiner there, kiddo."

Emma looked up, and found a smiling lady – not the lady behind the desk – but a different one. All dressed up like a rich lady. Like someone from school – except no one from school had such a kind smile as the lady who now sat beside her.

Emma just nodded, sitting up straighter. She tried to smile at the lady, but winced as her split lip popped open.

"Oh, you poor thing." The lady said, her short blond hair pulled back as she stood back up. "Do you want to come and get some ice for your eye? It will help it feel better."

Emma glanced toward the door where her mom had gone with the really crabby guy. She'd been told to stay right there. But it had been so long, and her eye really did hurt.

And she stood up – and nodded at the lady, "It really hurts."

The lady led her back, through lots of hallways, and Emma's good eye was wide as she looked at the building that never seemed to end. "Is it your first time in the White House?"

Emma nodded, "Yeah, my mom said she comes here a lot – but, I only came cause I got in trouble at school."

The lady opened a door, into what looked like a huge kitchen. And she smiled as she gestured for Emma to come in, "You mean you don't go to school looking like that?"

Emma just smiled, and shook her head, "No, ma'am. I used to get to go to school with regular clothes on." The lady walked over to the fridge and pulled out an ice-pack, "But now, since we moved here, I have to wear all these stupid skirts and sweaters."

"It sounds like quite the sacrifice."

Emma nodded, taking the ice from the lady, and carefully set it on her eye, wincing in pain for a second, until the cold began to work.

Then, the lady brought over a first aid kit, and said, "Now, sit down on the chair and let me clean that knee up for you."

After getting her knee all bandaged, and some ointment on her lip, Emma realized she really liked this sweet lady. She talked about her boys that weren't little, how they'd get into fights at school, and would have to get cleaned up too.

And she'd asked Emma how she liked living in the city, and Emma had told her all about how she missed the farm and her horses and her friends in the normal school back there.

Before Emma knew it, they were walking back to the room, her eye was feeling all better. And it was so much better than sitting there in that room for so long.

"Thank you!" Emma said as she reached the room where her mom told her to wait. She smiled up at the lady, and said, "If you ever want to get away from this big building, you should come to see the horses."

A quiet chuckle came from the lady, and she said, "You know what, Emma? I might just take you up on that…"

The door to the office opened, and Emma turned around. Her mom and the weird guy were standing there.

Her mother's face was completely pale. And her mouth hung open.

"Emma! I told you to stay in that chair!"

Emma opened her mouth, and said, "But she…"

And a small hand on Emma's shoulder from the lady followed as she said, "Bess, I just took pity on the little girl sitting there, and thought I might as well get her cleaned up a little while she was waiting for you."

Emma noticed that her mother's hands were shaking. And one hand brushed her hair nervously away, and she couldn't say anything.

And the crazy guy said, "Bess just didn't want… the girl to be in the way."

And her mother just nodded, and then…

The one man Emma knew from the news came to the doorway too.

The president.

Who looked almost as nervous as Emma's mom and the crazy guy.

"Lydia!" He said, surprised and shaking, "What are you doing back? I thought we were going to have to wait to see you until later?"

Then Emma realized who it was. And she turned around, her eyes wide as she said, "You're the president's wife?" And she shook her head in amazement, "You're so nice."

The first lady smiled down at her, pulling her in for a hug, and said, "Emma, it was so nice to meet you too. You're so sweet."

Emma could barely hear her mother as she came up behind her, "Ok, Em, we'd better get you home now." And then, her voice shaking, said to the first lady, "Thank you so much, Lydia, for looking out for her. I hope she wasn't too much of a bother."

"Not a bother at all!"

Emma followed her mom as they walked down the hallway – she could tell the way that her mom was walking that she was in a hurry. But it wasn't until they were halfway down the hallway - but she watched as her mom turned around and talk to the crazy man.

"Bess, are you ok?"

And her mom's worried tone, "I don't know what to think right now."

"I don't think she knows."

"Russell, stop. Not now." And then, gesturing down to Emma, she said, "I have to take this trouble maker home and give her a punishment for getting sent home from school for fighting."

The weird guy just looked down at her, and Emma had just stared back at him. He didn't make her scared, so she just stared. And the man said, "You could cause so many problems, kid."

Emma just shrugged, "I'm a strong fighter."

And then Bess had pushed her toward the door, while saying, "I swear, Russell, don't you ever talk to my daughter again. Go crawl back in your hole. You've had enough interaction with real people for the day."

It wasn't until they were in her mother's convoy – that Emma was finally alone with her mom.

And her mom just stared out the window, breathing really hard. And Emma realized she must have done something wrong in the White House. Which, was probably not good for her mom's job.

And Emma reached over and touched her mom's knee, and waited until her mom looked at her – she could see how worried her mom was. Emma just whispered, "Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you problems."

Something must have happened.

Because her mom reached over and pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. "Oh, you've got to stop getting into trouble." And Emma felt both of her mother's hands on her cheeks, and she looked at the bad eye. "Your poor eye."

And Emma grinned, and said, "You should see the other kid."

Hearing her mother's genuine laughter calmed Emma's heart temporarily. But she wished they could all go back, back when her mom's job hadn't made her look so tired and afraid.


	6. Chapter 6

I HOPE YALL ARE ENJOYING THIS - I HOPE IN THE NEXT COUPLE OF CHAPTERS TO START TO REASON OUT WITH YOU WHY I TOOK THIS POINT OF VIEW AND HOW THEY GOT TO BE IN THIS PLACE... THANKS FOR BEARING WITH ME - PLEASE KNOW IT'S GOING TO GET GOOD - STICK WITH ME! ALSO ALSO ALSO - I LOVE HEARING FROM MY READERS - MESSAGE ME! ASK ME QUESTIONS! ITS MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT WRITING - IF YOU DON'T AGREE WITH ME - I'D LOVE TO DISCOURSE WITH YOU ABOUT IT! ALSO LEAVE REVIEWS BUT THATS SOMETHING DIFFERENT :) 3

The smell of dinner lingered in the air, despite the late hour. She walked into the house, tossing her heels off into the corner as she shut the door behind her. They'd gotten the young boys back. They'd secured all of the negotiations.

But as she walked into the kitchen, where just the light above the sink was on, she wished she could let the days experiences fall away like her too-tall high heels. Wished she could leave the tension somewhere other than where she had to sleep. Or attempt to.

She heard Henry's calming voice from the living room, "Dinner's in the microwave."

She smiled at him, loving how his glasses got pushed down to the end of his nose as he looked over them at her. A tired smile – but a smile nonetheless. "You have no idea how good that sounds."

He shrugged, "Allison cooked, so I'd look at it before you thanked me."

Bess just hit the few minutes on the microwave without looking at it, "I just need something."

And then she leaned against the counter, looking up the stairs. She'd been too busy to actually process what had happened that afternoon. It seemed like a life-time ago that she'd dropped Emma off at Georgetown for Henry to take her home. There had been no room for explanations. Just worried looks exchanged between the two of them before she whisked away to the State Department to work out the world's problems.

Henry could read her mind as he walked over and stood against the kitchen island, "From what I could tell, it was just bruises and scrapes." He shook his head in amazement, "But she's gonna have quite the shiner for a few days."

Bess smiled through the exhaustion, "She's probably not that upset about it." And she leaned over, elbows on the counter as she put her face in her hands, "But, for her, ignorance is bliss."

She couldn't see his face, but she could tell from the tone of his voice that he was concerned, "Babe?"

She took a deep breath, "Did she tell you she got to come with me to the White House?"

"She did." His voice quiet, "She asked me why it made you so sad that she had to go with you."

She shook her head as she stood up, "It wasn't that she had to come with me…" She'd taken all of the kids to work with her – she'd even had Allison and Jason with her playing in the back of the room while she taught her political history class. It wasn't that. And Bess looked over at her husband, her teeth biting on her lower lip, "She had a long conversation with Lydia Dalton."

He let out a quiet, "Oh…" And then looked down. As he tried to process. He nodded his head, "Yeah, that would make your day a little more stressful."

She chuckled sarcastically as she walked over and pulled the food from the fridge, "Spending the whole rest of the day wondering whether somehow Emma could've said something, made a movement, or just even the way she looks…" And she set the plate on the table, suddenly not hungry, "Henry, I felt so guilty all day long."

She felt his arms around her almost instantaneously. His hands rubbing her back as she leaned against his shoulder, "You can't turn back time, babe."

She just nodded, "But, I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that the little girl she put a bandaid on – that… she was…" There were no tears – she wasn't sad. She just felt an immense guilt on her.

Henry finished her thought, "That she was interacting with the product of her husband's infidelity."

Bess nodded, laying her cheek against his shoulder, while she breathed, "I also wondered if she deserved to know." Henry's head rested against her hair, "I know it might hurt her, but…" She knew why. "It would make me feel better."

Henry pulled her away from him, and looked deep into her eyes. She realized just how much she loved this man. And he said, "I don't know what the right thing is, but…" He touched her cheek, "You can't let Conrad's decision with his marriage add guilt to you, babe."

She knew he was right. "I couldn't live without telling you, and I know that hurt you… so much."

Henry's face blinked of buried pain for a second before he softened, "It was the hardest thing I ever had to hear." But he rubbed her back again as he added, "But if it had come from anyone else, Bess, I think I'd have never gotten through it."

Bess nodded – she knew that was the right decision. She knew that Conrad's decision not to tell Lydia of their mistake years before – that was on his conscience. Bess just laid her head back down on his shoulder as she whispered, "Henry, I still will never understand how you…"

His head tilted to the side, so he was looking down at her, "Don't say it." And he laid his head down against her forehead, "I love you, and that's all. Don't question it, babe. I am married to the absolute perfect human being."

And she ignored the plate of food on the table. Instead she followed him up the stairs, past the kids' rooms, where they checked on the sleeping children. Allison asleep in her perfectly decorated bedroom. Henry took Jason's headphones off his ears before he pulled the covers over the sleeping boy. And they both stood in the doorway of Emma's room, watching the black-eyed child sleep – peaceful breaths. Sleeping without any care in the world. The way her little fingers curled under her cheek – those same fingers that Bess had watched wrapped around Henry's pinky finger only hours after her birth. The forehead Henry had kissed before smiling at Bess that day in the hospital – talking about how perfect their little girl was. Their family.

And Bess knew that she was married to a saint.

Someone who had forgiven the unforgiveable. Someone who had accepted another man's child as his own – and loved that baby just as much, if not more in a different way – than their other three children. He'd done everything to assure Bess that Emma was his daughter – that there was no difference.

As Bess curled up in bed against Henry, his arms pulling her close to him as she tried to rest, she knew that Emma would never know what it felt like to be without a father – that Henry had filled that in such a way that even God couldn't have designed it better. As her eyes began to close, Bess just reveled in the way he breathed next to her – calming her, stabilizing her.

And she hoped that this love that Henry had for Emma – that it would keep her child's sleep peaceful and content – always knowing she was loved.

Bess knew that the way that Henry loved Emma – it was just another way in which Bess knew Henry loved her.


	7. Chapter 7

I THINK THIS IS GOING TO HELP EXPLAIN SOME THINGS - AND I HOPE YOU SEE ELIZABETH IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT... AND TO SEE HER REGRET... AND THAT THINGS WEREN'T PERFECT. MESSAGE ME OR LEAVE A REIVEW TO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.

Twelve years earlier

The letter felt heavy in her hand as it brushed against her skirt as she walked up the staircase. The staircase that had been the way to the unknown before – walking to the office of her boss, while it hadn't been terrifying, it held its own level of uneasiness. Who wouldn't feel that way when walking to the director of the CIA's office?

But normally, she'd have in her hands a file, a report, detailing intelligence that her team had collected. As backup for whatever summons she had gotten. She'd wait for his secretary to allow her in – and she'd wait patiently.

Which she did this day – but this time, the letter pulled her hand to the ground as she stood there – waiting. Unable to sit in the uncomfortable chairs in the room. Unable to sit still. Unable to think about anything but what words. What would could she possibly use to tell him?

Her free hand brushed against her small bump, noticeable now – except she'd wore a suit coat that helped hide it.

She wished she'd done this before. Wished she'd thought about telling him before now. Before, when she could walk into the room and have the upper hand. She could lay the letter down on his desk, and walk out – they'd both understand. And he'd never have to know.

"He'll see you now."

She nodded at the secretary. And took a deep breath. Willing her heart to stop pounding against her chest. Unable to distinguish the difference between nervous butterflies in her stomach and morning sickness.

She quietly knocked and walked into the door.

The whole room full of light streaming in from the ginormous windows, matching the overwhelming desk where he sat. Until he stood up, tucking his red tie against his chest as he smiled at her.

That was as much as she could look at his face. Because the images it brought to her were overwhelming. His dark eyes – they had stared down at her as his hands ravished her body. His lips had surrounded her own, leaving a trail down her naked body.

"Bess."

His voice. The way he'd said her name that night – whispered – breathed – in between deep and dark kisses. Crying it out, his warm breath against her skin.

With as much strength as she could summon, she stared at the letter in her hand. And acknowledged him, "Director Dalton."

His tone, so patronizing, filled her ear, "Come on, Bess…" She watched as he walked toward her from behind the desk. "You know it doesn't have to be like this…"

And now she could see his shoes standing right in front of her. So close to her.

"It does." So short. And so on task. And she thrust the letter forward, And looked up into his dark eyes, "I'm resigning."

His eyes drifted down to the letter, and then up to her eyes again.

"Bess, it was just…" Again, patronizing. Treating her like a child who was throwing a tantrum.

She shook her head. "We both know what happened wasn't 'just' anything." If anything about the last few months had taught her anything, it was that.

His hand reached forward and rested on her shoulder, his thumb slowly rubbing around in circles, "Bess, no one has to know." Taking charge. "It was a mistake. And yes, it was wrong…"

She followed his arm to her shoulder, realizing it was the first time she'd been touched since that night. The first time a man had cared enough to worry about her like that.

But she knew it was fleeting.

And she knew it wasn't Henry's touch. It wasn't his loving embrace when she returned from her tour in Baghdad. It wasn't his hand long her cheek as he stared deeply into her eyes

It wasn't the one she wanted.

And she quietly said, "I'm pregnant, Conrad."

His hand fell from her shoulder.

And his face fell. No longer thinking that the relationship could be salvaged. She knew the feeling as she watched him.

He took a step back, his eyes searching hers.

"You're…"

And she nodded, biting her bottom lip.

He took a deep breath, walking back to his chair, almost falling into it as if he'd lost the ability to stand. His face, now pale, stared off into space – out the window. As he came to terms with it.

She just stood there awkwardly, but still. She knew she couldn't just leave.

"And you're sure…" He looked up at her with a little bit of hope in his eyes.

And she just shook her head as she sat down in the chair across the desk from him, arching her back just a little as she attempted to get comfortable. "Being away for ten months and coming home three months pregnant…"

Conrad's eyes widened, "No." He shook his head, "You knew you were pregnant for three months before you came home?"

She nodded, her turn to look at her hands twisting in her lap, right over the small bump that now protruded out of her suit coat, "I was suspicious for a month… then the last two…" She thought back. Those days, while they tracked the terrorist groups movement, she'd attempted to keep her mind occupied. Not wanting to think about the fact she'd not had her period for a month.

And then, when the realization set in – when she actually thought about it – the guilt that ate at her. Laying on her cot at night, imagining every scenario in which it would be ok.

None had ever surfaced.

She'd attempted to hide her morning sickness from everyone around her – saying she'd drank something weird or that she was just dehydrated. Watching the way her body changed – hoping no one could tell.

And Conrad.

As she looked at him there in her office – she remembered how abhorrent she'd felt about him in Baghdad. How every time they passed each other, she'd never look him in the eye. When he came in for an update on the mission, she'd stoically state the facts and findings – allowing others to brief him deeper.

She watched as, across the desk, he began to realize it.

His voice was barely a voice, "I thought you just felt guilty about what happened that night."

She nodded, "That was part of it." And she added, "The other part was… I didn't know how to tell myself that this was happening to me, I couldn't imagine what would happen when I got home, and…" She just shrugged her shoulders, "And telling you and hearing your reaction was just too overwhelming."

He slowly nodded. Then, without making eye contact, asked her, "So that day, when I cornered you…"

She remembered. She'd been avoiding him every chance she could. But he was about to go back to the states – the team would stay behind and close up all the logistical things before heading back. She'd stayed away from him as much as she could, and she thought she'd succeeded.

********* One month before

"I'll make sure these boxes get to the loading dock." She told Isabelle, who was in the middle of shredding the documents that didn't need to be saved. Looking around at the small building that had served as their workspace for the last ten months, she was in awe of how fast the paperwork was filed away, the equipment transferred into crates to be flown back to the US, and the nonessential personnel were sent on to the next assignment. "Seems like just yesterday we stumbled in here, wondering how on earth we'd survive the heat and sand and close quarters."

Isabelle nodded absentmindedly, "How this could be the place we saved so many people, and now – it's nothing but an empty room."

Bess nodded as she opened the door and motioned to the furniture dolly full of document boxes, "I'll wheel these to the dock."

"I'll be here…" Isabelle called out as the door slammed behind her.

Through the little base-town, Bess tried to think about all the things she wouldn't see again. The small clouds of dust that kicked up with every step of her combat boots, the way the sun felt on her face. She knew the base like the back of her hand, moving between small constructed buildings, around tents, navigating around the traffic and tanks and jeeps.

She saw the landing field – with three helicopters in various stages of loading. And looked across the street before she started to walk across, until a hand wrapped around her elbow and pulled her back to the side of the street.

"Bess."

She'd almost hauled off and slapped the man who grabbed her arm – until she heard her name.

Catching her footing as she looked at the ground, "Conrad, I've got to take these…"

"Hey."

Her heart pounded against her chest as she felt his hand on her arm, turning her to face him. She couldn't think about it. She couldn't talk to him. She knew the tone of voice he was using – she knew he wasn't going to give her orders about the mission or ask her opinion about a different tactic they'd used. No. This wasn't business.

What did she say? She couldn't move her mouth. Instead, she just shook her head, "I need to make sure…"

Before she knew it, he'd pulled her into the corner tent – one that was completely empty – waiting simply to be taken down. The flap flew back down as he secured it down while she tried to catch her balance inside the tent.

She tried to breathe – tried to simply take in air as he turned around.

"Bess, we have to talk."

Instead, the words began to come faster than she could control, "We can't do this right now, Conrad." She looked into his dark eyes as she walked closer – and she stepped back. "I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to hear anything – I just want to desperately forget that it happened… Conrad, I…"

He moved in closer, cornering her against a pole of the tent. And he said, "Bess…" And his hand reached out and tried to touch her cheek.

But she knew better than that – she knew better than anyone where that could lead.

And she vehemently hissed, "If you touch me with that hand, I swear to God I'll break your wrist."

And immediately he stepped back, holding his hands up in the air, "Whoa, I didn't mean anything, Bess. I wasn't…"

She knew. She nodded, breathing just a little easier as he now stood at least three feet from her. "I know."

"I was just trying to talk to you…"

She nodded, and then brushed her stray hair that trickled down her face back behind her ear as she stated, "I can't talk to you right now, Conrad." She shook her head as she looked at the ground, knowing so much more than he did. She couldn't tell him what she wanted. She couldn't tell him that she regretted everything about that night on the mission. She couldn't tell him that their one drunken night together only brought feelings of disgust and shame every time she thought about it. She couldn't tell him what she knew. She couldn't tell him that their night would never stay a secret. That soon at least one other person would know… But she could say one thing. And she could say it looking at him.

She waited until his eyes were focused on hers, and she sternly said, "I'm never going to get over what I did with you that night. And…" She tightened her jaw, as she moved away from him toward the door of the tent, "It was wrong, in every fucking sense of the word. And…" She never broke eye contact even as she lifted the flap, "You know it was wrong."

And then she'd ran across the street, dropping the crates off at the landing strip.

She'd held tears away while she signed the custody of the documents over to the loading crew. She'd bit her lip as they asked her about going home. She'd muttered something.

And then she ran away. Ran to the edge of the camp, between two tents. And she'd broke. Hating everything about herself in that moment.

Thinking through that day – Bess nodded at Conrad in his office, "I didn't want to see you and be reminded of the fact that my life back home was about to come crashing down on me."

He must've been thinking about that same day – he absentmindedly nodded, and quietly said, "We both know that was… such a horrendous thing to do."

Bess agreed, "One night will completely destroy us."

That seemed to shake him out of his reverie, and he leaned over the desk, "Bess, it doesn't have to destroy our reputations."

She knew he'd say that. And she sarcastically chuckled, "I kinda think my husband might disagree with you."

And Conrad's eyes opened wide, "You told Henry?"

"Yes." She wanted to laugh if the situation hadn't been so serious, "I am four months pregnant… I came home with a small bump…" She'd barely kissed the children before she'd sat down with Henry. "I couldn't tell him it was a tumor."

He swallowed hard. And fell back in his chair again, "Dear Lord, he's going to destroy me."

His reputation. She knew it. She knew he'd respond like this. And she just shook her head, "Actually, he's ready to stone me, and he just thinks you're the scum of the world."

Then the question – the question she knew he'd ask, "Why didn't you just have an abortion?"

The question she'd asked herself after being kicked out of own house by her husband.

She repeated what she'd told herself every day, "Because this baby isn't the problem." It was true, "Terminating the pregnancy wouldn't change the fact that I was unfaithful to my husband. That was the problem."

"But he never would've had to know…"

"That wouldn't be a marriage relationship for Henry and I, Conrad. We're honest with each other. Even…"

Her voice caught as she remembered how horrifically angry Henry had been as he slammed the door with her on the outside. The way he wouldn't look at her, couldn't make eye contact as he let her into the house for her once a week visit with the kids. The amount of distance he always wanted between the two of them – the way he'd treated her as if she was the rotting trash that needed to be thrown out.

And she continued quietly, "Even if that means it ended my marriage."

Because she still didn't know how anything could ever be better. She didn't know how things could ever be half of what they were before she told him about the one night. She had no hope. She'd been living out of a hotel for two months. She'd schedule to have the baby at the hospital alone. She checked her mail every day waiting for Henry to have filed divorce papers. Her life would never be the same.

But she knew one thing. She still loved him. Even though she knew Henry would never love her again.


	8. Chapter 8

LONG LONG LONG LONG LONG CHAPTER - PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW - I LOVE HEARING FROM YOU - AND I KNOW ITS HARD TO TYPE DOWN IN THE LITTLE BOX BELOW THE CHAPTER - BUT STILL - IT'S A BLESSING. AND, THE MORE COMMENTS, THE MORE APT I AM TO TRY AND WRITE ANOTHER CHAPTER - ENCOURAGE ME!

PRESENT TIME.

"So what exactiy are we going to do about Emma?" Bess asked as she put the final touches on her makeup the next morning.

Henry put his belt on as he asked, "Well, I mean…"

Bess could tell what he was thinking by the way he casually responded, and she peered her head out of the bathroom and just gave him the look. And said, "Seriously? She got into a fight at school, Henry."

"But, come on." He said, sitting down on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on, "She's twelve years old."

Bess rolled her eyes and walked to the dresser to put her jewelry on, "I can just see the headlines now." She waved her hand in the air like a poster, "'Secretary of State's daughter breaks nose of classmate.'" Then she pulled her watch on over her wrist as she then added, "'A New Wave of Diplomacy from the State Department?'"

Henry laughed, and she smiled. "Babe, you really think the papers don't have more pressing things to print?"

"You'd be surprised what Daisy's always cautioning me about with the press." It almost irritated her just how insanely her press secretary thought out every little action and the consequences. Then, she took on the concerned parent voice as she said, "Seriously, though, Henry, we can't just have her going around punching kids in the nose and getting into fighrs."

Henry stood up, and said, "That wouldn't really set her up for conflict resolution in the future."

Bess nodded, "Thanks for taking this seriously." She grabbed her heels from the closet and leaned against the wall as she started to slide them onto her feet.

Then Henry's tone again changed to reluctant again, "But how are we going to punish her for defending her mom?"

Bess stopped, with only one shoe on, and looked at him, "What?" This was the first she'd heard of this, "She was doing what?"

"Kids in Washington are weirdly politically involved…" He stood there and said, "She told me last night that the kid had been teasing her about your policies for a while, but…" Henry held his hand up, "Don't freak out…"

"Henry, what twelve-year-old boy follows politics?" She shook her head in disbelief, "Much less has any strong opinions on it?"

"I really don't know." He said as he walked into the bathroom and grabbed his cologne, "But Em said she tried to tell him to stop, but apparently he just kept on."

Bess followed him to the bathroom, "So she just hit him for disagreeing with my foreign policy?"

He shook his head and bit his bottom lip. "He called you a bitch."

Bess' eyes flew open and all the words flew from her mouth, "What?" Henry nodded, "A seventh-grade kid called me a bitch to my daughter?" She looked at the ground as she began to see spots, "Who the hell does that?" She answered her own question, "I guess the same kid who probably listens to his dad yell and rant about how my policies are hurting his multi-million dollar oil interest."

Henry just watched her, and she could see the amusement on his face, the way his left eye lowered a little and he scrunched up the left side of his face, "So now you understand why… I don't think we should be super concerned about punishing her."

She nodded as she turned and walked out the bedroom door into the hallway, and Henry followed her. She turned around slightly and said. "I mean, I can't blame her." She clenched her hand into a fist and playfully said, "I kinda want to punch the kid too."

He smiled, and took her hand as she started to walk down the stairs.

But she felt him playfully turn her around and push her back against the staircase wall. His hands rested on her hips. A small laugh escaped her lips as he towered over her.

His head dipped down to allow him to kiss her neck, down to her collarbone. And he huskily whispered, "Do you know how sexy you are, babe?"

She laid her head back against the wall, and a laugh preceded, "Talking about beating up a middle school boy? Really?"

Then her laugh turned to a squeal as his hands worked up to her ribs, underneath her suit coat against her silk shirt, and he softly squeezed her. "Stop… Henry…"

His own laugh followed until his mouth met hers when he broke his tickles, deeply kissing her. One of those kisses that seemed to pull all of her breath away, but when he pulled away and smiled, she wondered if she really needed any air.

Then, with his forehead resting against hers, he breathed, "I love you."

She opened her mouth to tell him that she loved him, but they both stopped when they heard the familiar arguing from downstairs.

Allison's voice came, piercing up the stairs, "Really, Jason?"

To which Jason responded, "What? She stood up for what she believed in…"

Bess and Henry exchanged irritated looks as they listened to Allison protest, "Do you know what people are going to think about us? I mean, I know you're all glowing and sweet and kind to every single person at school…" Upstairs, they both had attempt to keep their laughter quiet, "But Em hauling off and hitting someone isn't very diplomatic."

Bess shook her head while laughing, and whispered to Henry, "We'd better get down there…"

Emma, with what sounded like a mouth full of food, responded, "HEY! He started it first!"

A fake groan came from her husband as she moved away from him and started walking down the stairs, "But then we have to make them stop…"

"I guess we could leave them to fight each other," And she turned and shrugged at him, "Might thin the herd a bit?"

She heard her husband's muttering behind her as she walked down the stairs, walking into the middle of Allison's rebuttal, "What if Mom said that with China or Russia, dummy?"

Bess raised her eyebrows at the kids as she interjected, "Sometimes that's the answer in politics, Noodle."

Jason laughed from where he sat at the kitchen table, until Henry leaned over and gave him the look.

"But, Mom," Allison argued as she set her dishes in the sink, "What are people going to think? Word gets around."

Elizabeth grabbed her coffee up from the cabinet, "Honey, you just need to focus on school and not worry about what people think." As she poured her steaming coffee, she added, "People can be quite fickle."

"Imagine if Mom worried about all the nasty things the papers say about her?" Jason muttered, and Bess looked over at him, her mind going wild about what he was referring to, which he soon revealed, "She's not a 'sadistic monster' who 'doesn't know the meaning of a smile' or a 'power hungry woman who wants to see the fall of the free world.'"

Bess shot a concerned look at Henry while her mouth gaped, "They say that about me?"

Henry shook his head as he reached around her to get himself some coffee, "No they don't."

"Don't lie to her, Dad." Came the urging from their son.

She looked around the kitchen and again asked, "Really? What do they say about me?"

Allison just shrugged while she reached down and grabbed her backpack, "Let's just say there's a reason that your staff hasn't told you."

Now Bess reached over and playfully slapped Henry's arm, and ignored his fake cry of pain as she muttered, "Why didn't you tell me?" Of course, she knew the reporters were just looking for ways to get an award for journalism or ratings for their papers. She knew it was a world full of vultures out there – it was the one thing she hated about the job. Well, one of the things.

"See, even Mom's concerned with what people think about us, now that she knows." Bess looked and saw real worry on her teenager's face. "It matters."

Walking over to Allison, she just shook her head and said, "Sometimes things people say about us can hurt." And she hugged her daughter, feeling old as she realized how tall and grown-up her second child had become, "But, Noodle, when we're doing what we believe to be right, you just have to learn to put all that criticism behind you."

A subtle nod from Allison signified her relinquishing her battle. Bess had learned that so often the discussions and opinions held by her children stemmed from a fear they had about their personhood – and Allison, by nature, was more sensitive to the words of others. Placing a kiss on the top of her head, Bess added, "So just make sure you're doing your best to do what's right."

Then she watched as Henry walked around the kitchen island to where Emma was standing with half a piece of toast in her mouth, the other half hanging out. He gently reached up and put his hand in her hair, tilting her head back to look at the bruise on her eye that now was so black and blue that it spread across her nose. "And hitting your classmate is not doing the right thing, young lady."

Emma's eyes searched Henry's face as she muttered something unintelligible through the food in her mouth.

"Nobody understood that, raccoon-face." Jason mocked, throwing his dishes loudly into the sink and simultaneously grabbed his backpack. Bess leaned out as he walked by and grabbed the belt-loop of his pants, making him stop. "Hey, I thought we could call her that now?"

His antagonizing of his sisters always bordered on being a sarcastic brother and that being the way that he showed them that he cared about them – a line that was often blurred, probably in his mind. His hair, always out of place, contrasted against his pristine school uniform – the tie something he'd complained about every day since starting school. But Bess knew that, underneath the rough layer of anarchy, he really did care – and that was probably why he teased. Only because he didn't know how to show he cared about his sisters.

Still, she sternly said, "Stop being mean to your sisters and go get into the car."

Allison followed him out and added, "You should just worry about not getting expelled for your weird views, weirdo."

And Jason turned, walking backwards, and held his hands up to Bess and said, "See what I have to live with?"

Calling out to the both of them, "The next person I hear fighting this morning gets kitchen duty all MONTH!" But by the time she finished, the door slammed behind them. Muttering to Henry, "And they complain about the people they have to live with."

He smiled.

And Emma, now finished shoving an entire piece of toast into two bites, chimed in, "They're the worst sometimes."

Then Bess got serious. Well, as serious as she could looking at the ragamuffin in front of her. She had the same uniform as the other kids. Except the blue jacket seemed to be missing one of the shoulders, so it slumped forward, partially because the buttons were buttoned out of order, and partially because Emma just didn't care how she looked. The skirt looked to be twisted around almost crooked, while her shoes barely had any place that was the original color of the black shoes – instead scuffs and dried dirt covered them. And her eye and split lip added to the absolutely unkempt ensemble. But the real icing on the cake was twirled around the tangled curls. Looking closer, Bess leaned over and fingered through the curls, and asked, "Why is there…" the clumps of dirt, and she looked at Emma and incredulously asked, "Please tell me you took a shower yesterday after getting into a fight at school."

The way Emma's eyes darted down to the ground – Bess looked at Henry and mouthed, "Oh my God you didn't make her…"

Henry shook his head, but then tried to change the subject. "Em, you know that getting into a fight at school is not ok for this family."

Emma nodded, and looked up at Henry, "I know. But I didn't know what to…"

Bess knew it was her turn to interject. She rested her hand on her daughter's shoulder and asked, "Do you know what one of the big differences between kids and parents are?" Emma shook her head, and Bess answered her own question, "Kids get to go to school and come home and do homework and play and sleep."

Emma nodded, "So I don't have to do chores?" A slight grin appeared on her bruised face.

"Hey, we're having a serious conversation." Henry chided, and the grin fell away as quickly as it came.

Bess continued, "Kids get to live in a house and get to be taken care of by their parents." She made sure Emma was looking at her as she said, "Kids don't protect their parents – parents take care of the children."

Confused, Emma asked, "But what does that have to do with me hitting that jerk of…"

Bess reached down and put her finger over Emma's mouth, "I'm trying to protect you, but I cant do that if you keep trying to protect me." It dawned on Emma, "It was sweet of you, but I can most definitely handle being called a bad name."

"But he shouldn't have said it." Emma said quietly, looking down at her hands, "It felt like he was hurting me when he said that about you."

Bess reached over and pulled Emma in for a hug, "And I'm sorry that it hurt you – it wasn't right for him to say that." She held her for a minute – hating the pain that her job had caused her daughter. But she knew that it was all part of growing up. And with that, she pulled Emma away from her and looked sternly at her, "But you are grounded for one week."

Unlike the argumentative Jason or the whining Allison, this child just nodded and quietly said, "Ok." Then she looked up at Henry and said, "I do feel bad about almost breaking his nose." Then she leaned over and wrapped her arms around Henry's waist. "Just a little, tho."

Bess kept her composure while Henry told Emma to hurry out to the car. That he'd be there in just a second. It wasn't until the door shut that Bess exclaimed, "She almost broke his NOSE?" And she playfully asked, "Where did she learn to do that? Our little girl?"

He nodded, "I know, right?" Then, wrapping his arm around her waist as they walked to the door, "Got ourselves a budding boxer here."

She rolled her eyes as they walked out to the cars, "I'll be the peace-keeping diplomat. But when Russia gets too mean, I'll call my daughter in to break the ambassador's nose."

Her car was waiting, the agent holding the door open. And Henry leaned over, placing a small kiss on her nose, "As long as your nose stays so cute."

"What a cheezy pick up line." Bess said between laughter, and then she pressed her lips against his, "I gotta go."

"Don't worry about her," He said as she got into the car, "She's just trying to be like you. Standing up for justice."

Bess smiled the whole way to the State Department, thinking about her beautiful family. With Stevie away at college, Allison doing so well academically, and Jason coming home and writing anarchist manifestos – it was never a dull moment. As hard as it had been for Allison and Jason to get settled in the city, she knew they were finding their way – finding the way to work in the system that they were placed in.

And Emma, her wild child, always kept them on their toes. The wild card – never knowing what questions would come out of her mouth. From insightful questions about foreign policy that she'd heard on the news – to almost breaking a kid's nose at the Quaker private school – Bess never knew what to expect.

Ever since Emma was a little toddler, Bess had worried about her. The other kids, somehow – there was a security in knowing that their childhood would always be as it was – it would never hit a point that made them question everything about themselves.

But Emma – Emma didn't know anything different than the other children. But would there come a day when Bess' mistake would haunt Emma? Would she have to watch her daughter's whole idea of the family and love she'd grown up with – would Bess have to see Emma question the love that had surrounded her?

As hard as Bess tried, she still worried about it. Henry always assured her that if that was the case, sure, there would be anger and resentment from their little girl – she'd question. But, he made sure to say that eventually Emma would realize that there was a reason that they'd kept things from her – that it was to protect her.

But now, with a job as the secretary of State - how much protection could that have? And the public eye? The things that could happen if she was found out. Not only would it absolutely destroy all of their careers, but it would devastate Emma. It would humiliate Henry and Lydia - and the subject of the news for weeks to come would be the scandal.

Henry, as she was deciding about whether or not to take the job - he asked her this. He said, "Do you know what a change you could make in the world?" And she'd answered, "I want to change it - I want to see the US help strengthen other nations for democracy. I do." And she'd added, "But at what cost? What is the cost to me wanting to serve my country? Does that negate the fact that I have to protect my children? My family?" And he'd said words that she clung to whenever she wished she could go back to that farm and ride through the fields and teach at the college and argue with students about their world ideals. He said, "Don't make the decision out of fear. Weigh it out - think about your options - but fear - fear is never a reason not to do something. Fear of the unknown is never an excuse to sit idly by while you could be doing so much to serve your country. Do what you must, not because there are not risks involved, but because fear is a much worse enemy."

And that's all Bess ever wanted to do with her children – she wanted to protect them. She wanted to show them that the world was not the thing to conquer. Instead, she wanted to show them that simply combating the fear in their own lives - that was a goal. To stand up and fight for the right not to be afraid. To accept that sometimes, fear is there - she felt fearful all the time. But in that fear - in that questioning - in that fear of the unknown, she could still find strength and courage to face the fear and begin to life the hold that fear had on the lives of the world.

She'd tried so far – and she'd keep trying.


	9. Chapter 9

HEY GUYS. SO SORRY ITS BEEN A WHILE TO UPDATE - NOW THAT IT'S SUMMER, I'LL BE UPDATING MORE - LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS.

THREE MONTHS LATER.

"Thank-you, Minister Chen." Bess smiled into the computer cam, trying desperately not to look at the clock in the corner of her screen.

"No, thank you, Madam Secretary." Minister Chen's smug face irritated Bess so much. "We look forward to the trade agreement meeting."

Bess nodded, and then said, "Have a good day."

She leaned forward, hit the button to end the call, and called out, "Blake!"

She pulled her shoes on, jumped up and met Blake at the door, where he handed her coat to her.

"The motorcade is waiting for you downstairs." He said, beginning his listing just as Jay walked into the office.

Out of breath, he turned and walked with her as she walked toward the door. "Ma'am, the Russians have agreed to the trade deal with the conditions we've given them. The Chinese?"

Nadine joined the group walking her to the elevator.

Bess looked at Blake, "Call Henry. Tell him to have Emma all packed and ready to go." Soon it was just Matt, Nadine, and Jay walking with her. "Chen said that as long as we can semi-guarantee the absence of human rights discussion at the summit, he'll guarantee the release of the journalist activists."

A sigh of relief came from the group. After working all day on the issue, between calls to Russia, China, and Japan – negotiations with DOD and the White House – contact with sources on the ground – and the CIA – the entire group hadn't stopped at all since they walked into the office that morning.

Turning to Nadine, Bess said, "I'll just be at the farm. Call me if you need to – but hopefully – the world shouldn't fall apart while I'm gone for one night."

Nadine smiled and said, "I just need you to sign this form for the awards letters for the children's essay writing contest that will be held in…"

Bess stopped her by grabbing the pen from her hand and signing the letter. "Thanks."

The elevator opened. And Jay asked, "I'll make sure to solidify our conditions with Japan – and start the treaty writing process with the staffers."

Bess nodded, and stepped into the elevator.

"I'll send you the finishing touches on your UN speech for Monday at the end of the day."

Bess shook her head, stopped the elevator from closing – "Matt, I'm going away to the farm with Emma to get away from all the noise and bustle of my job." She then looked at Nadine, "Please filter…"

Nadine nodded, knowing what Bess meant.

Then Bess smiled and took a step back while the doors began to close. "Have a great weekend, crew."

Until she heard.

"Madam Secretary! Ma'am!"

And she pushed the doors opened to see Blake running toward her, cell phone in hand – and a look of fear on his face.

"Blake.. what…"

He started talking and didn't stop. "Ma'am, I called Henry to have Emma ready for you when you got home, but he said that Emma was with you, which I know isn't true."

Bess stepped outside of the elevator, her heart beginning to pound and her lips starting to shake. "What do you mean, she's not at home…" And then she snapped, "Is she in detention? Maybe she's still at…"

And Blake's face now was completely pale – and he shook his head, "Ma'am, it's 9pm…"

The heat in the room was tearing at Bess' throat, and she dropped her briefcase and unbuttoned the first few buttons on her shirt – and looked around the room, "She's not at the house?" Nothing was making sense. Her stomach dropped… Nothing… "And she didn't sneak out with Jason and Alli? Go do weird things kids do?"

She knew in her mind something was wrong. And her mother's intuition – this wasn't just a child not coming home from school.

All of her staff couldn't keep the look of fear off their faces.

Bess felt her spy mode take over. The words came out pointed and urgent. "Blake, get the detail for the school on the phone in my office right now." She shoved her hands into her pocket – to keep herself from noticing how badly they were shaking. And she started back down the hallway. "But first I want to talk to Henry." Henry. He'd know. Something. Then, "Daisy, I want none of this – not one thing – getting out about this in the press."

"Yes, Ma'am." And Daisy was off to her office along with Matt.

Now Bess was at her office, and she told Nadine, "Call the White House. Inform them of the situation – and…" Bess hesitated just a second before she added, "I want to talk to Russel Jackson right away."

"Of course…" Nadine agreed.

And Blake called out, "Henry's on line one."

Then Bess motioned Nadine out – and grabbed the phone from the receiver.

"Henry!" Her heart pounded against her chest. She couldn't breathe. She pushed the receiver to her ear and leaned against the bookshelf.

"Why isn't Emma with you?" He asked – his own voice bearing the identical panic she felt. "I thought you picked her up from school for the trip…"

She shook her head, and found words, "No, I got caught in a meeting with Chen… I thought they'd take her home…"

"The agents said she hasn't checked in to the house after school. No log."

Where else could she be, Bess wondered. And nothing she could think of made it easier. Emma wouldn't just run off. Going and hanging out with her friends wasn't something that Emma would do without…

"Henry, what if she got into another fight and didn't want to disappoint us … and she's…"

Henry interrupted her, "Elizabeth, you know she's not like that… she'd come tell us. We're not like those kinds of parents." He sounded reassuring.

Bess felt her body give out, and leaned heavily against the window. "Henry, I just want to find my daughter…" Her voice broke just a little… "Where is she?"


	10. Chapter 10

ANOTHER CHAPTER - THANKS FOR UNDERSTANDING CREATIVE LICENSE. PLEASE COMMENT AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK - EVEN IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT :)

Stacks and stacks of papers piled high across her desk – one for each head of security that stood in front of her desk. The mountain of intel and information on each security officer in her family's detail – the stack of analyst's work on the security at the school – the endless pages of CIA information on anyone who'd made insignificant threats against the Secretary of State.

Bess set her glasses down on the desk – as she stood above it and, taking in all the information, hissed out, "It's been ten HOURS since anyone has seen the Secretary of State's daughter – and we have NOTHING?"

"Ma'am," Ephraim Ware, head of the CIA began, "We have all of the top teams on this – we're not taking this lightly."

Bess looked up and listened while the head of the Secret Service, the FBI, Homeland Security, and National Security Advisor all agreed, saying that they would find her in no time.

But she was barely focusing on their excuses. She wanted her daughter.

The cup of coffee and plate of food that Blake brought in sat cold and untouched at the corner of her desk, and hse could feel herself still shaking after what seemed like eternity – she just wanted the pit in her stomach to go away.

Now the men in her office were talking amongst themselves – trying to work out how and who had lost Emma – the connections that might have been crossed – Bess had heard it all in the last three hours.

Her phone rang. She picked it up.

"Ma'am, President Dalton on line one."

Bess' breath caught in her chest – and she said, "Tell him I'm in a meeting."

She could almost hear the hesitancy in her assistant's voice. "Ma'am, this is the third time he's called in the last…"

And she snapped, "I said I'm busy with other things right now, Blake. He can wait."

Blake's response immediately was apologetic, "Yes Ma'am, I'll…"

She hung up. And without looking up she said, "Are we bringing the security from the school in for questioning?"

Daisy rose from the couch where she was sitting with Matt and Jake, "With all due respect, Ma'am, if you don't want this to get out to the press, bringing in that amount of people in will raise a lot of red flags, and considering that it's public knowledge that your children attend this school, it would be a feeding frenzy."

Bess looked at the FBI director, "Can you not keep this quiet?"

He hesitated, "Ma'am, bringing them in would have to have legal grounds, otherwise it is simply an unwarranted investigation. We'd need to get warrants for all of…"

"Actually, asking them to voluntarily come in…" The CIA director began, "would be a step… but we can't ensure their silence."

The head of Secret Service said, "To keep it from getting out to the press, we could simply wait until the school opens on Monday and start that questioning, which would be routine."

Nadine, from her chair by Bess' desk, asked, "In what ways would it be worth getting the information even if the press found out?" Bess looked at her, listening, "The goal is to find your daughter as soon as possible. If that means the press knows, then that should be something we brace ourselves for."

Bess sat down, leaning back in her chair – thinking. The press knowing could create problems, all of which Daisy had informed her of: lack of security of the American people, giving whoever kidnapped or hurt her daughter a stage to do and say whatever to stay in the limelight… showing the weakness of the Administration. All of which Bess could care less about until she found her daughter.

"We've searched the dark web? Looking for any sort of ransom note or video claiming responsibility?" She asked.

Ephraim said, "We've found nothing. The only thing we have is that she walked from the Metro stop where her school is at 7:43 and never arrived at school. None of the cameras along the street show anything. It's as if she got off the Metro and disappeared."

Then Craig Sterling, the National Security Advisor, pointed out, "The canvas of the area shows no foul play – no …"

And her phone rang again. She picked it up.

"Ma'am, it's the Pres…"

"Dammit, Blake, I cannot talk to him right now. Tell POTUS that I have other things on my mind now!"

And she slammed the phone down.

And she knew by the silence in the room that everyone couldn't believe what she'd said about the President.

But she asked again for them to go over the timeline. From the time Emma left the house that morning.

She'd heard this and read it what seemed to be a thousand times. So while they talked through it again, Bess felt her anger at Conrad boiling up inside her.

She'd called Russell. And talked to him. Told him that her daughter went missing. Russell ensured her that he would talk to the President immediately. But Bess made it clear. She'd told him, "I cannot think about Conrad right now – tell him but I can't deal with his politicizing over what this could mean." Russell agreed.

Then not ten minutes later Blake informed her that the president was summoning her to the SIT room. She said that she was busy. That happened three more times. Then he'd called – and this time that she'd snapped at Blake had been the third time of that.

But no. She couldn't deal with him getting angry at her, deal with him making this a political issue right now – lecturing her about how if any of this got out it was his career that was over – all of that – Bess didn't want.

And she didn't want his sympathy. She had raised Emma with Henry – Henry was the one she bonded with over Emma's birth – Conrad had nothing to do with it – and so in such a vulnerable situation, Bess didn't want to share her vulnerability with Conrad.

And how could Conrad keep what he knew a secret from her?

Henry was home, taking care of things there – the kids, the house, going over security footage – doing what he could. It was better that he was home while she was here demanding the attention of every security outlet in Washington.

"After canvassing all the shops at that stop – we've found no trace of Emma's whereabouts from anyone." Ephraim finished.

"She didn't just disappear." Bess said, frustration building, "She always took the Metro – never had any problems. Went to school, got back on and rode the two stops to the house – it was never a big deal. Have we pulled footage from other days? Looked to see if maybe someone was stalking her on the trains? Or regulars that we can question? See if THEY saw her?"

"We have a list of people that we are going to…"

Her phone rang and she picked it up, "No. I'm not…"

Blake interrupted her just as the door to her office slammed open, "Ma'am the President…"

And there was Conrad, anger written all over his furrowed brow – the gasp from those in the room preceded the respectful standing immediately after. He walked into her office, the picture on the wall shaking from his violent entrance as he said, "Everyone out."

Bess remained in her chair.

And Conrad stood in front of her desk. Glaring down at her. His breath was heavy, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. His tie loosed, and his jacket unbuttoned.

Bess just stared right back – never breaking his gaze. She didn't blink even when the door quietly shut behind Daisy, leaving them the only two in the room.

His words were measured. Said between a hiss and a snarl, "How dare you leave me out of this!"

She crossed her arms in front of her, leaning back in her chair and shaking her head, "I am trying to find my daughter, Conrad. You are of no significance to me right now."

The surprise on his face didn't change any of the anger as he leaned over her desk, "You work for me! And you know this involves me now more than ever!"

And she reached into her desk and grabbed the folder that Russell had sent over, and she slid it across the desk and said, "Like this involved me? And you left me completely in the dark?"

Conrad opened the file, and upon looking at the first page, closed it. "Where did you…"

"Russell." She spat out. And stood to her feet, "Because your Chief of STAFF had the decency to fill me in on what could be THE VERY REASON my daughter is MISSING!" She yelled. And she pounded her finger into her desk, "You are a selfish BASTARD! Your fucking reelection campaign is worth more than protecting MY DAUGHTER?!"

"Bess you know that's not…"

"Don't go there with me." She interrupted. "You care more about your public standing than addressing an OBVIOUS threat on my daughter?" And hse reached out and ripped the file from his hand, and began to read, "'We know your secret. Resign." Then she skipped across another page to the next letter, "'Your love child should be exposed for all the world to know what a cheater and hypocrite you are. Resign and keep your relationship with Elizabeth McCord a secret." And she threw the file back at him, and said, "And there's pictures. Pictures! Of MY DAUGHTER in here – they knew!"

"What was I supposed to do? Resign? You know I couldn't do that!"

She walked around her desk, "Or you could have TOLD me about this!" She got in his face – the closest she'd been in a long time – and she hissed, "They were threatening my little girl and you kept it secret because of your reputation!"

He glared right back, "I thought I was doing what's right – I had Russell investigate…"

"Oh, Hell no!" She rolled her eyes – "You had Russell try and trace the letters – but only himself – not involving ONE OTHER PERSON – how the HELL is that doing what's right." And she pointed to the phone, "You called me SIX times tonight – and you couldn't even send me a courtesy email months ago to tell me about my daughter being used as BLACKMAIL?"

"I did what was best!" He argued back, "I wanted to protect my daughter too!"

That was the straw. Everything broke. And she grabbed his lapels and said, "She's in this mess because of you, Conrad." And she pounded her fist against his chest, "And I swear to God if anything happens to her, I'll blame you!"

He grabbed her wrist and held her away from him, "Bess, calm down."

Straining against him, she fought – all the tension from the past hours releasing as she fought and said, "You're the reason! She'd be safe at home in bed right now if it wasn't for you!" She twisted and turned, but he held on. And she felt the tears beginning to choke the back of her throat. "We could've put a detail on her – and she'd be fine."

"Elizabeth. Calm down." He said forcefully.

Her baby – she wanted her baby. All the strength she thought she had faded. And she fell to her knees – his hands still around her wrists until stopped fighting. And her hands, still clenched in fists – fell to her lap.

"Elizabeth, we're going to find her. We have the best military and invstigators on the job."

And she looked up, eyes narrowed – and through clenched teeth, she hissed, "If anything happens to her, Conrad, I will hold you responsible."


	11. Chapter 11

NEXT CHAPTER... PLEASE REVIEW!

The stumbling in the dark was the hardest. Her feet would slip as they tried to grab onto something – to hold – find something that she wouldn't fall, or have her body forced to be held up by the men's hands. She wanted to put her hands out, to feel what she was about to run into or touch the walls along which they walked – but with her hands tied in front of her, she was at the mercy of the men yelling and speaking loudly in Arabic behind her. There was no way she could ever get away – she wanted to beg them to take off the hood from over her face – but no matter what words she'd uttered since being captured, she'd just been met with a slap to the face, or a boot-kick to the stomach. She'd learned her lesson.

Now when they shoved her into what she could tell was a cell, she fell onto her left side, and, expertly, turned herself, using her fingers to find the back wall and crawl to the corner. Then, once she heard the metal slam from the door, she bent her head down and pulled the cover off her head.

The same darkness. The same dank, nasty smell. Hearing some kind of water drip down from above – hearing the men talking as their voices got further and further away from the bars – toward the light – and then hearing the door slam shut, as the voices stopped.

And she pulled her knees up to her chest, and laid her head down. They'd made her put on a long dress – completely black – one that covered her from neck to ankles – but they'd given her no shoes – so her bare feet rubbed along the cold stone underneath her, and she could see bloody scabs from being dragged place after place.

She pushed her hair out of her face, and could feel the oils and dirt in each section of hair – she wished she knew how long she'd been here – how long it had been since she'd had a shower longer than feeling the rain hit the hood they put over her head when they moved her.

The loud bang from the end of the tunnel made her jump, pushing her back against the wall. They never came back this fast. What was…

And then she heard it.

Something she'd not heard in what seemed like forever.

A woman's voice.

Yelling. Loud. Piercing.

"Let me GO!" The woman screamed – her voice sounding all the way down the tunnel, getting louder and more forceful as they got closer.

Emma could see, through the light – that the woman struggled. Her legs, still in pants, kicked back and forth, every once in a while making contact with one of the men's shins. Her hands were tied in front of her – and Emma watched with awe, just as they got to the door, as one of the men let go to unlock the door – the woman brought her elbow up, forcefully into his face.

A string of curses came from the man, as he let go of her and grabbed his nose, blood beginning to seep from between his fingers.

The woman used this moment as the man let go of her to push back against the wall, and yell, "Get away from me!" While kicking out into the air, hitting the other man in the gut.

All of this with a cover over her head.

As the man with the nosebleed clutched his nose, and the other man tried to catch his breath, Emma watched as the woman used her bound hands to follow the tunnel back – stumbling a few times, but righting herself.

But even as Emma wanted the woman to run – wanted the woman to get away – she knew it wasn't possible. She knew. She knew as the men went after the woman. She knew it would always end up like that.

Emma watched as they grabbed her arms, throwing her down to the ground on her back. And leaned down and, with closed fists, pummeled the woman's body, face, torso, arms, legs.

The cries of pain echoed down to Emma's core – and she couldn't look anymore, sheltering her face in her arms as she listened to the blows turn from fists to kicks – the cries of pain turning to grunts as the wind was knocked out of the woman again and again.

After a few minutes – it was still. Except for the moans coming from the woman as they dragged her into Emma's cell – slamming her down against the wall a few feet from Emma. Emma heard them spit on the woman, say something, and then slam the door shut behind them.

Then the light disappeared.

And Emma was left there, with only a trickle of light from the air vent – to see the woman beside her.

Emma crawled over, and saw.

The woman's hood must've fallen off in the skirmish.

The woman's eyes were closed, whether because they were swollen shut or because of the pain to keep them open, Emma wasn't sure. Blood trickled down from her forehead, where pieces of her red hair stuck to the gash about the size of Emma's pinky. The blood ran down the sides of her face, around multiple smaller gashes and breaks from the men's fists, to her nose, which blood just poured out of. Her mouth hung open just a little, and more blood ran from the inside of her mouth, and past the cuts on her lip – all the way down her chin. The woman's arms were crossed around her stomach – and Emma could see cuts and bruises all over the woman's hands. Dressed in a torn and dirty coat and jeans, and boots.

Emma reached down to her own dress, and ripped off a long piece of material from the hem. And, as carefully as she could, she tried to move the woman's hair away from the dangerously large cut on her forehead.

But the woman's hands came out of nowhere – reaching up and grabbing Emma's wrist. And the woman yelled, "STOP!" 

And Emma backed away immediately. But still watched, curiously.

The woman still held her wrist – and then opened her eyes past the blood – and looked at Emma.

And their eyes met – the deep green eyes surrounded by the crimson blood – Emma just looked at her. Wanting to help.

And the woman just stared at her – like she knew her.

Emma carefully held up the material – and gestured to her head, and then sent a questioning look.

The woman nodded, and laid her head back against the wall to allow Emma to help.

Emma pushed the hair away, and tried to get whatever pieces of dirt were still in the wound. The woman grimaced a few times – but them Emma tied the bandage around her head. And reached down and grabbed another piece from her dress.

Emma reached over and dipped the material into her water cup before she then began to dot the face of the woman, trying to keep the wounds from getting infected.

At least, this is what her mom would've done.

And the woman, through pain, said, "Who are you?"

And Emma – she didn't want to say anything. She was afraid. Afraid if someone knew who she was – she'd be in even more danger. And she couldn't.

Instead, she just shrugged, and kept cleaning, despite the ways the woman kept looking at her.

"I know you from somewhere…" the lady said. And Emma just shook her head.

And then the woman asked, "Do you know English?" And then she asked the same question in a different language. And then another one.

And Emma just shook her head, getting to the woman's lips – tenderly cleaning around it, and put her finger to the woman's lips to tell her to stop talking… so Emma could take care of her.

Once done, Emma sat back, and looked at the woman.

The first woman Emma had seen since her capture.

The woman shifted, grunting in pain, but then said, "Do you know where we are?"

Emma looked around – and shrugged. She didn't know. She'd been moved five times since the capture – it felt so hot here – hot and dry. Didn't feel like home. Wherever they were, after that plane ride – Emma had a feeling they weren't in the States.

Emma wondered if the woman got the hint that she wouldn't talk – because her questions turned to statements. "My name is Lea." Lea stretched out her hand to shake Emma's – but then the pain around her stomach was too much.

And Emma just smiled at her, and adjusted back into her corner – looking at Lea.

"I'm a journalist." She said, "I was taken from a refugee camp outside of Tehran."

Iran? Emma couldn't believe it. Iran? That was.. so far…

Lea shifted her leg, and let out a small cry of pain, and said, "I don't think they'll know what to do with me…" She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the wall, "I'm not going down without a fight." 

Emma smiled, knowing that she'd already put up a bigger fight than Emma had the whole time she'd been with them. Emma waited for another question she wouldn't answer – but she soon watched Lea's breathing even out, her eyes closed.

And as Emma settled against the wall, for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel completely alone as she drifted off to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

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"Madam Secretary…"

Bess looked up from her desk, her mind taking time to adjust from the mounds of information she'd been reading for the last few minutes…

"Blake?"

Blake walked in, and said, "Ma'am, you wanted me to keep you appraised of the FBI's investigation?

Bess nodded, looking at her watch, realizing it'd been three hours since she'd last looked up from the pages. Her neck felt the tension, as she rubbed it and asked, "And?"

Blake shook his head, quietly saying, "They've had no leads. They're still…"

Bess stopped listening after that. It'd been three days.

"Thanks, Blake." Then she looked up at him again, and said, "Blake, when was the last time you went home?"

He stumbled over words, "Ma'am, you know it's fine. I'm fine…"

She gave him the "tell me now" look.

"Last time you went home."

"Three days?" She shook her head in amazement. "Blake, please go home. Get some rest. I'll call you if there's any development."

He took a nervous step toward her desk. "With due respect, ma'am, you haven't been home either. You also need some rest."

Three days. Henry had come by a few times. He said the kids were shaken up, but ok. It was better for him to stay home with them. And he'd begged her to come home.

But. She couldn't. She needed to be close to the action. Right here where if any developments happened, she'd be ready to go get Emma.

"That'll be all, Blake." She said with a cold tone. "Go home. Rest."

She knew her tone told Blake that the discussion was over.

Bess leaned back in her chair, stretching her neck. She couldn't go home. It was too hard to be there without her daughter. And Henry. She wanted Henry. But she also couldn't get over how to explain to him that this was probably happening because somehow someone found out about Emma's father.

12 YEARS BEFORE.

xxxxxxxxxx

"You're what?"

The weight on Bess' shoulders just increased as she sat across the table watching her husband realize what had happened.

"You're pregnant?"

Bess nodded.

Henry's voice increased in volume. "Pregnant? But you JUST got back!"

Again, she nodded, looking at her hands in front of her on the table.

The chair squeaked against the floor as he pushed away from the table and stood to his feet. "You can't mean that! You're saying that…"

Bess looked up, and saw him pacing back and forth along the kitchen floor that was littered with Jason's trucks and Allison's dress-up clothes. She tried to help him understand, "Henry, I know it was wrong… I couldn't hide it from you…"

He sarcastically responded, "Yeah, that's not some honor code thing, Elizabeth. I'm obtuse sometimes, but I think I'd begin to notice when you had a baby. That gives you NO moral high ground."

She just nodded again.

Then came the question she'd been dreading. "So who was it, Elizabeth?"

She swallowed hard. And twisted her fingers back and forth over and over.

"Huh? Who was it?"

She took a deep breath. "Conrad."

Then it was silent. And she looked up softly to see Henry's hands clenched into fists. And him staring at the ground.

"Henry… it was a mistake. A big one. And I'm so sorry. But it means nothing to me now. I don't…"

"Conrad? Conrad Dalton? Your BOSS?"

She nodded.

"Did he pressure you into it?"

Oh the lies she could tell. She could make it easily go away.

She shook her head. "It was one drunken night… and I was… unsure of what you meant about when I came home. And…"

"Oh, of course, blame me."

She stood up, and quickly tried to patch things up. "No, that's not what I meant. This was all my fault. I was just saying that was what I was thinking… or not thinking because of the alcohol."

"So I wait for a year for my wife to come home, watching our children grow up without their mother for a year because this is what she felt was her duty to her country."

Bess had been over it in her head over and over again – how he'd react.

"And I realize that just maybe my wife was the only person who could do the job in Baghdad. That I was being selfish wanting her to stay home. And that was never what our marriage was based on."

Bess felt tears cloud her vision as she watched him walk to the kitchen counter cluttered with dirty kids dishes and cups…

"And then… she comes home, pregnant with someone else's baby?"

And in one swift motion, he pushed all the dishes onto the floor, clearing the cabinet in anger. Glass shattering, plastic cups rolled everywhere.

Bess shuddered at the sound and the pain that came in the weeping as he leaned over the sink.

"Daddy?"

Allison's call was accompanied with a cry of fright from Jason.

Henry hung his head, and called upstairs, "Go back to bed."

"Daddy, are you ok?!" Came Stevie's call.

Bess stood up and said, "I'll go put them back to bed." Giving him some time would be…

"No."

She looked at him as he turned towards her, anger clouding his pain. "Henry, I don't mind. I'll go…"

"Go."

Bess questioned, "What?"

"I don't want you with the kids right now." He wiped his eyes before going to the stairs, "I can't see you right now. I need to think about this. And seeing you is…" He walked up the stairs, "too painful. Go away."

"Henry, please, this has nothing to do with my kids…"

Henry's face hardened as he spat out, "You left them for a year. Give me some time to think about this. Don't be here when I come back down."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bess wiped the tears from her eyes as she went to the closet and grabbed her running clothes. As she changed, she questioned her aversion to going home at this moment. She knew Henry didn't feel this way now. She knew they'd worked through it. But that first night at the hotel alone had engrained into her mind that she'd made a mistake.

Perhaps she was banishing herself from home. To protect everyone else from her feelings.

She needed to get out. So she took a run. Running. Her mind moving through all the parts of her daughter's kidnapping with each step in the cold air.

The cameras had been hacked. Hacked so well that they couldn't find the footage.

No trace of her on any toll booth, street, or police cameras.

No sightings of her anywhere.

And no increase in terrorist chatter. Nothing. Not one thing.

And no one had taken credit.

What had happened? If it wasn't for the cameras being hacked, they'd think it could've just been someone who didn't matter at all – an abduction – or even a random murder.

But there was nothing. Nothing.

As she stopped to catch her breath, she watched Mark, the head agent, come over to her. "Ma'am, Russell Jackson on the…"

Bess grabbed the phone out of his hand and breathlessly said, "What?"

"The president just received a message."


	13. Chapter 13

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"Can we have the room?" Conrad asked the NSA and the agents in the room.

Bess stood in the President's office, still in her running clothes. Which probably served her purpose after having pretty much ran the entire way to the White House. She couldn't think of anything but hearing what the message was.

Agents cleared out. Russell stayed where he was seated on the couch. Sterling hesitated for a minute, then, seeing the President's nod, continued to exit the room.

"Conrad, what is it?" She asked breathlessly. She had to know. Her entire body, covered in sweat, felt cold and clammy as she waited for the last person to clear out of the room.

The minute the door shut, Conrad said, "Bess, it's bad."

She could barely breathe as it was. "Is she alive?"

He nodded.

A wave of relief rushed over her. Then the tsunami of fear consumed her. If she was alive, what horrors was she living through? Who had her? And what did they want?

"Where the hell is she?" was the question she found came out the easiest.

Russell began, "The message came in encrypted to my office this morning."

"Just to your office?" Bess questioned.

Then Conrad turned the laptop towards Bess. And he said, "Bess, remember – this is… going to be hard to watch."

She nodded, moved closer and said "Play it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emma didn't want to look at the camera. She wanted to see what was going on around her. Felt safer. While the men twisted and turned around each other to set up the video camera in the small, windowless room, Emma tried to orient herself to seeing in the big, warm lights above her. Almost like movie lights. Heavy. Bulky. Bright.

Especially after having been in the dark and moved in the dark for what felt like eternity.

In broken English, one of the men said, "Read."

Emma's hands shook while he looked at her, and she whispered, "Read what?" Her voice shook, and the air seemed to catch in her throat – it was so desperately dry. She tried to stop the shaking by rubbing her hands along her dress.

One of the five men held up a sign in English – a cardboard sign – a few of them.

And as she mentally read it, she knew that this video was going to be sent home. Her mom and dad would see this. Maybe the entire world would see it.

Which means she'd have one chance to try and communicate with her mom. Maybe they'd come save her.

l.,

Her mother would try. But Emma felt so far away.

She clamped her hands to the side of her dress. And began to read. "My name is Emma McCord. Today is October 27th, 2015. It's been three days since I was taken from my home in Washington DC."

Each word she tried to slow down. To make the video longer. But she was so afraid. Maybe they were going to kill her. After this.

"My mother is Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord."

Her mom. Emma's eyes teared up at the thought of her mom. And her lips trembled… "I will not be…" She wouldn't be… Her eyes misted up, and she brought her hands up to her face to brush away the tears. She tried to catch her breath again… "I won't be released until…" And she couldn't see the sign because she just wanted to go home. She couldn't wait any longer. And she just whispered, "I just want to go home… Mom… I just want my…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I just want my mom."

Bess wrapped her arms around herself – and felt her heart jump in terror as she listened to yelling in Arabic. Something about now. Talking now. Talk now.

Of course, Emma's face showed only fear at the unknown language being screamed at her. Which only made her cry more.

Bess gasped when a hand came out of seeming nowhere and grabbed Emma's hair and made her look up – and said "Read it. Now."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emma gasped in pain as she nodded. Through the tears. His eyes looking down at her, glaring into her own – she swallowed and tried to calm her body down enough to read the words.

"I won't be released until… until…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Until President Dalton agrees to our conditions."

Bess looked at Conrad, who was watching her. "Oh, God, what are their conditions?"

Conrad shook his head, and motioned to the video. "Bess, it's not over."

She looked, and tried to keep her analytical mindset as she would watch any other hostage video – but all she could see was Emma. There. Dirty. Bruised a little. Her lips cracking from what was probably dehydration.

Terrified.

Because then.

A masked figure came into the camera view – holding assault weapons and speaking in broken English.

And he said, "You will never see her unless you meet our demands. You will back out of the peace talks. You will remove your nuclear inspectors. And you will release five designated prisoners."

Iran.

He continued, stepping back so that Emma was in the frame.

"If you refuse any of these – Secretary McCord's daughter will not be returned. And in case you don't take us seriously…"

Bess' eyes widened as she looked at Conrad and breathlessly said, "No…"

"You might want to look away…" Russell said cautiously.

But Bess just shook her head back and forth, "No…"

One man held the back of Emma's hand against the wall, palm up.

Emma whimpered, "Mom… No, please… no…" her cries getting louder as another man brought the butt of the rifle right up to her hand…

Bess' hand covered her mouth as she couldn't breathe… at all.

And Emma's scream as he brought the gun back, trying to pull away. Violently.

The scream of fear turned to an agonized cry of pain as the gun rammed hard against her hand, and Bess felt her stomach turning at the sound of bones cracking.

Then the men let Emma go – and she fell to the ground, cradling her hand – a trail of blood streaking down the wall.

And an ominous voice, "We'll be in contact." And the video went blank.


	14. Chapter 14

I love all of the reviews! Thanks so much! Keep them coming.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The room was silent. Quiet. Silence so loud it felt like a megaphone.

Screaming in Bess' ear – silence mingled with the screaming from Emma in the video still lingering through the office. Crawling up Bess' skin – adding to the tension she felt deep in her soul.

And suddenly her arms felt empty – she turned away from Conrad's gaze – and refused to look at Russell as she tried desperately to stave off the feelings. The feeling of absolute emptiness and failure. The feelings of murder and caring. She pushed the tears down – trying to erase the emotions from her mind as she played the video over and over in her mind.

She wouldn't let her mind go there. Until they found Emma.

Her job was to find Emma. She had to. That was the only thing she could do. She was trained for this. And she had the weight of the United States behind her.

She felt herself stiffening. Her emotions shut off from her brain. She wouldn't feel those. She couldn't. Didn't need to. She needed to find Emma.

And she turned to Conrad. Jaw set. Fists clenched.

"I want everyone on this." She calmly said. "The FBI, CIA, State, Homeland Security. Everyone."

Conrad met her own eyes. And she read him. Like a book.

And showed him.

"I don't care what comes of this, Conrad. I want her back. Your political standing will not get in the way. I'll see you completely disgraced for what happened if that's what it takes to get my daughter back."

"Bess, that's not at all what I was thinking. We need to alert all the agencies. All our people on this." He nodded. Reassuring. "I want her back just as much as you do."

As sweet as that sounded in the moment, Bess nodded, but still said, "I doubt that. But everyone can report to me. I want SEAL teams on standby. Once we find where these sons of bitches are, I want teams on the ground."

"I'll convene the NSC – everyone will be read in on…"

It was Russell who disagreed.

"We don't know what the abductors know."

Bess refused to turn. But asked, "What do you mean? And tread lightly."

Of course, he didn't. Russell Jackson never tread – he stomped. And proudly. "Why alert all of our political enemies, both here and abroad, of something that most definitely will dismember Conrad's legacy if it's not even a threat."

Bess turned, her eyes staring right at the weasel. But he kept eye contact with Conrad, the man he needed to convince. Or the man he thought he had to convince.

"If they don't even know that they have the President's child. So if we can keep that little bit of information to ourselves, there's no one else who has to know."

Conrad agreed, "Of course, there's no need to tell them just how politically important their hostage is. Not until we have to."

Bess gave Russell one more chance. She took a step towards him. "I know you weren't in the CIA, so this might not be something you're connecting. But those threats…" She moved closer to him. "Those threats were on my daughter because of her parents. Which includes Conrad. Of course they know who they have."

Russell just looked at Conrad, "Mr. President, there was no mention… and we need ot keep your reputation intact as much as possible. There's the election coming…"

And that was it. Spy training kicked in. Mothering kicked in. And she grabbed Russell's lapels and shoved him up against the wall, his back thudding hard just before his head. Her rught hand moved to the back of his head, and her left hand grabbed his throat, lifting him off the ground.

"My daughter is NOT something you can use in the election." She shoved him hard again, "She is not a political pawn, and you will fucking shut up about the election."

She heard Conrad coming up behind her, but she just tightened her grip, looking into the weasly eyes of the man incapacitated in front of her. "Don't touch me, Conrad."

Then to Russell. "One twist of my wrist, and your neck breaks, you bastard."

His lips moved a little, but nothing could deter her. "I want to break your neck just to show you how I won't fucking play your political games." And she leaned in, so her mouth was close to his ear. "And I will kill you if I hear anything about that again. Let the news play me as a whore and your boss as a cheating husband. I don't care. I want my daughter."

It happened so fast, Conrad's hands around her shoulders, ripping her off of Russell. He yelled something. Russell sank to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath.

"Elizabeth! That's enough!" Conrad yelled, holding her so she was looking him square in the face.

And she hissed, "That's what I say about these politics, Conrad. It's enough."


	15. Chapter 15

Second chapter in a day - please let me know hwat you think.

CAUTION - Triggers for Sexual Assault in this chapter.

XXXXXXXXX

"Get up."

English from the captor. Always covered from head to toe – the only thing she was able to see was his eyes – but now – Emma had given up trying to tell the difference between them. They were – all horrible.

And Emma used the wall behind her to stand up, her bare feet gripping the ground as best as she could. And then she looked down at Lea, struggling to stand to her feet while holding her side and groaning in pain. Without thought, Emma reached down, put her hands between Lea's arms, and helped lift her to her feet.

A small laugh from the man hit Emma's ears as he reached over. Emma flinched and pulled away – but then saw he was going for Lea.

He laced his fingers between Lea's hair, pulling her face close to his, and he whispered, "American bitch…" in a way that sent shivers up Emma's spine.

Lea's face showed she was terrified, her eyes wide as she tried to pull her head away from his face. But he held her there in place while his other hand reached out and ran down her throat – chuckling and said, "Scared?"

And, Lea's face turned to a stoic look – except for her lips. Emma could see her lips trembling as the man traced his fingers down her neck to her chest – tracking along the lining of Lea's jacket.

It was silent for a few seconds.

And Emma wanted to jump in and stop whatever was going to happen. Wanted to make it stop.

But as fast as the moment happened, the man then laughed and let go, gesturing for both women to go out the door. Outside.

Without a mask on.

Emma went first, and soon found herself surrounded by two men who pushed her up the stone stairs outside.

Outside into the night – into the breeze of the desert. She could hear animals – and people talking. And trucks humming.

There was a truck – a truck with a canvas covering over the back – and the men pushed her toward that – urging her in Arabic to get up. To get up.

And she got up.

And turned to help Lea up.

Until she heard, in the darkness, a loud shriek from her friend.

And she looked.

In time to watch the four or five men surround Lea.

"Stop." Lea called out.

But it was to no avail.

Instead, Emma watched as the men formed a circle around her, and, taunting her in Arabic, pushed her from one man to the next, each of them pulling at her hair, her clothes, tripping her, but not allowing her to stay on the ground before again pushing and pulling her.

Emma whispered, "No…" Not her friend.

And Lea called out, "Jackass! Stop!"

She held her own, taking a few swings as she went from one to the next.

But Emma could see that as one of the men unzipped his pants and another shoved Lea to the ground in front of him, Emma could see – the tears – on the woman's face.

Then Emma had to close her eyes. Not simply because she couldn't look at the atrocities happening in front of her. Not because she didn't want to be exposed to the things they were doing. Not because she couldn't bear to see her friend hurt like that.

But because she couldn't imagine the shame Lea would feel – the pain and embarrassment. And Emma knew this was something that she shouldn't tread into.

Instead, Emma just listened as the laughter – it never stopped. Sometimes collectively – sometimes individually. The laughter embedded itself into Emma's brain, making it impossible for her to do anything other than bury her head into her knees.

And the cries.

The pain.

The begging.

The whimpering.

The loud, blood curdling pain that met Emma's ears.

Then the cries stopped.

And Emma only looked up when she felt the truck moving – as a man shoved Lea's body up into the truck. And Lea just laid there on the bed of the truck, and Emma pulled her friend to the back of the truck – just in time before the truck took off through the desert.

It was a few minutes of bouncing around before Emma looked down at the woman in her arms.

And then she did the little thing she could.

She pushed Lea into a sitting position at the back of the truck. Then pulled up her pants. And buttoned her shirt and zipped up her jacket.

And brushed her friend's hair back away from her face. And looked into her eyes.

And saw tears. Tears running down the bruised and scarred face.

And pain. Pain. Humiliation. Shame.

And for the first time, Emma opened her mouth and allowed her words to flow out. Quiet. Soft. A little timid.

But she had to say something.

And she pulled the woman's head into her lap, running her fingers through Lea's hair, and whispered, "I'm here… I'm here…"

The only sign that Lea heard Emma's words was the way her fingers curled around Emma's hand – holding on tight as the tears and sobs overtook the woman's body.


	16. Chapter 16

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FOUR WEEKS LATER

"Mom, have you seen my black shoes?" Allison called out from down the hallway in her own room.

Standing over their bathroom sink, Bess looked at Henry before rolling her eyes. And he sent him the look that communicated, "How would I have seen your shoes in the last few days when I haven't been home and are your shoes really my responsibility?" without having to yell that to her daughter. Instead, Bess just clipped on her bracelet and watch, and yelled back, "I haven't." She refused to look in the mirror, knowing she'd have trouble recognizing the woman looking back at her.

Instead she turned and put her jacket on while asking Henry, "Are you ready to go back to work?"

"Mom! Tell Allie to get out of my ROOM!" Stevie yelled out.

"I think she has my shoes!"

Bess walked to the door and yelled out, "Wear different ones! STOP FIGHTING!" She knew her tone was less motherly and full of anger, but that was her demeanor lately.

He looked up from the chair where he was tying his dress shoes only long enough to say, "I've missed so many classes. My students must be tired of the substitute teachers they've had."

They both knew what he was saying. Three weeks he'd been here at home, trying to help as much as possible from home while looking out for the kids. Elizabeth had been at work for a week before she'd come home the first time. Then she'd only been home enough to pretend to sleep before she headed out every morning to get back to work.

"It will be nice for you to get back in the classroom, and at least take your mind off of things for a little while." She couldn't imagine him being stuck at home, trying to help as much as possible. At least at the office she felt in charge and like she was doing something.

He scoffed at her as he stood up, "You think I ever stop thinking about it?"

Normally, she would've explained what her thoughts were. Normally she would've just told him that she didn't mean how that sounded. And that she was sorry. Because she knew when they were about to get into an argument. And normally they both could see where they could deviate from the ensuing fight.

But today. After she'd come in at 4 this morning, and to be trying to hurry out the door by 7 this morning, she didn't care.

"Do you really think that was what I meant?" She asked, walking briskly past him to get her stacks of paperwork from the nightstand table.

Henry stood up, moving to his bedside table to put books into his briefcase. "I don't know anymore."

She took off her glasses and looked at him across the bed. She bit out, "Oh, come on. What's that passive aggressive comment supposed to mean?"

"You're never home. You lie in bed and toss and turn – when I ask you what's wrong, you just turn over and pretend you didn't hear me."

Bess could see how angry he was – he took his glasses off and threw them onto the bed, staring at her.

"I'm sorry for not wanting to repeat over and over again the things that are going through my head. I'm pretty sure you needed some sleep before you go and teach some cadets about the ethics of war." She snapped back at him.

His eyes widened and his tone sharpened, "Well, I'm sorry for wanting to connect with my wife! And to talk about things."

"The only thing there is to talk about is Emma, and you sure as hell are tired of hearing the talk about that."

And Bess turned and started to stuff paperwork that she wasn't even sure she needed into her briefcase.

"I never said that… I just said…"

"No, you said you wanted to talk about my feelings…" Bess interrupted, then shook her head in irritation, "My feelings aren't going to bring her back."

It was at that moment that Allison burst through the door, "Mom, I've just got to check your closet and see if you have my shoes." And ran to the closet.

And Stevie followed her into the room, "Mom, she just barged into my room and…"

Both Bess and Henry continued packing their bags as if nothing had happened – but they stopped arguing. For a few seconds. Bess could feel Stevie reading the room – knowing she'd stepped into something she shouldn't have.

But Bess was done talking about it. She walked to the door, kissed Stevie's head – and to Allison, she said, "I know those shoes aren't in there." And she just turned to Henry and said, "Have fun with teaching. I'll be at work."

And Henry bit back, "See you tomorrow morning? Or maybe in a few days?"

Bess bristled. And would've snapped back a sharp comment if the kids weren't there. Instead she turned to leave.

But everything fell apart when she heard Allie cry.

"She had them." A broken voice, trembling.

Bess turned back and saw Henry's face – fallen – concerned. And they both walked quickly to the walk-in-closet.

Where they found Allie, sitting in the corner of the shoes on the ground. Bess walked over, crouching down, and grabbed her daughter's hand

"Honey, what's wrong?" Henry asked.

Between the tears, Allie whispered, "Emma. I told her she could borrow my shoes that day."

The air left the room, and Bess pulled her sobbing daughter to her chest. Running her fingers through her daughter's hair, Bess looked up at her husband.

And she knew the pain that they both felt was the same. Deep. Hurting. Desperate. Isolating.

"I just want her back." Allie whispered through the tears.

Bess buried her head in Allie's hair. "Me too, noodle. Me too."


	17. Chapter 17

Ok. This is going to cause some MAJOR conflicts - I can just feel it. But I just ask one thing: please stick with me through this - we're going to make it through. I promise. Also - leave your reviews - they do help me continue writing! I'm already working on the next chapter.

WARNING: violent situation

"They've made contact."

Those were the words Bess heard what seemed like hours ago.

The motorcade drove at breakneck speeds from the State Department to the White House. But Bess barely noticed the way her body slammed against the door at each turn.

She'd phoned Henry. Listening to the ringing over and over again – until she got his voicemail. She'd hung up and called again, muttering and begging him to pick up. She knew he had his phone on him – but he sometimes couldn't hear his phone in his bag while he was teaching.

Even while calling him, her mind had been another place.

As she ran down the hallway to the situation room, her mind focused on one thing.

The kidnappers made contact again.

Just before she ran into the situation room, she yelled out, "Blake, someone go get Henry."

Even before she stopped running, she saw Conrad, worry on his face – as he looked at her, glad to see her. And she said, "What did they say?"

Then the door to the outside world shut behind her.

And she followed his eyes to the screen at the front of the room. And she heard him say, in a professional manner, "As you can see, Secretary McCord is here now."

A live feed. And she saw two men.

Her spy training took over. And she noticed all the details.

Dark hoods covered everything except their eyes. Brown eyes. Both of them.

Time of day – afternoon – outside. Sand hills behind them. Sun. Bright.

They both were covered, head to toe, in black. Completely covered in weapons – one gun slung across their chests, knives at their belt.

Bess pulled her eyes away from the screen as she looked again at Conrad, who moved to the front of the long table – so he was in the view of the men. And Bess followed. She knew – she kenw something was wrong. But she knew they were live.

She couldn't ask about it.

Until one of the men spoke. "I'm glad you could join us, Madam Secretary."

She stood tall, her diplomatic side taking over. Despite walking into the situation without any information, she answered the man with her own statement, "I want to speak to my daughter." All she wanted right now was to see her baby alive.

Conrad agreed, "We will not continue speaking until we have proof that she's alive."

The coverings over their faces made the already impossible situation even harder – she couldn't read their facial expressions. Only their eyes.

As the man again spoke, staring right at the camera, "We have waited long enough for our demands to be met."

His accent – Bess could tell he wasn't from the US – but his English was not the most broken she'd heard from someone from Iran.

Conrad spoke, his presidential tone meeting the man's haughty remarks, "As I explained before, our government moves slowly – we are doing as much as we can to get the money and weapons ready to send to you."

Bess knew that wasn't true. But she stared back at the camera, watching, and nodding her head.

A small chuckle came from the man as he stepped toward the camera and shook his head, "You think we do not know the United States' policy about negotiating with terrorists?"

Everything inside of Bess wanted to turn to Conrad and tell him to find some way to secure those funds – that she'd sell her house and steal the weapons if it meant her child could come home.

But she knew nothing would change Conrad's mind. Nothing.

Instead, she sternly replied, "We won't continue any negotiations until I see my daughter." She could hear the clicking of computers behind her, the hushed tones the NSA used to command those working here in the room, and in remote locations around the room.

She crossed her arms in front of her, looking through her glasses at the men – waiting. Wanting to seem strong when all she wanted to do was get down on her knees and beg to see her little girl.

And where was Henry? Why wasn't he here?

"You want to see your daughter?" The man facetiously asked, a small laugh in his voice. Gesturing to someone behind the camera, he said, in Arabic, "Give her to me."

Emma. Bess wanted to start to cry – she was going to get to see her baby.

And she heard a small whimper as a bundle of black fell into the sand at the man's feet. Bess forgot her diplomatic stance she needed to have, and stepped forward, never taking her eyes off the person shoved at the man.

He reached down and grabbed the girl's arm, ripping her to her feet, ignoring the small grunt of pain. As the person stood up, Bess watched.

Watched for some indication that the person clad in a complete black dress – and covering over her entire face – watched to see if this could be Emma.

She didn't take her eyes from the girl, but she heard as the man said, in English to the camera, "Here she is."

And Bess shuddered as he violently ripped the hijab from the girl's face.

And she saw the blond curls.

And blue eyes.

And her little lips.

And Bess' hand flew to her mouth, unable to calm herself as she saw her little baby. Her Emma.

Dirt cased along Emma's skin, and bruises littered her face – under her eyes, dark circles. Her cheekbones protruded more, and her bottom lip was split. The rest of her body, shrouded in the traditional dress of the oppressed woman, covered Bess' ability to see if she was hurt in any other way.

"Take a good look, Madam Secretary."

Bess ignored the man – and instead did what she'd been longing to do for months. She stepped forward. And called out, "Emma?"

And Emma must have seen the monitor as the man held her in front of it. Bess could see it in her eyes – the disbelief as she called out, "Mom? Mom!"

Bess' heart felt like it broke – hearing her little girl call her "Mom" again. And she blinked the tears away from her eyes. "Emma, are they hurting you?"

Emma's eyes moved back and forth along the ground, and she started to talk.

But the man interrupted her. "Does it really matter if we are?"

Emma looked up at the camera, and her eyes filled with tears as she called out, "Mom, I want to go home. I want…"

And Bess watched as the man's hands around Emma's shoulders shook her daughter, and he yelled at her in Arabic to shut up. Emma cowered and lowered her head.

Bess felt her anger rise, and she didn't care to stop herself. She pointed her finger at the man and, between gritted teeth, hissed, "Get your hands off of her. Now!"

The commotion behind her increased a little. She heard the typing increase, and the voices rose a little. She heard someone say, "We are working on tracing the signal."

But she focused. She willed her heart and anger to not overtake her – but watching Emma shaking in the man's arms – she was ready to rip his body to shreds.

The man laughed. "Exactly how are you going to… enforce that, Madam Secretary?"

Bess' heart began to pound harder against her chest as she watched one of his hands move from Emma's shoulder and slide up Emma's neck to cup around Emma's chin, pulling her head back against his chest.

And she heard Conrad turn to the room and say, "Where are we on tracing the location?"

Bile tugged at the back of Bess' throat – and she said, "Do you know what we're going to do to you when we find you?"

"You can't find us." The man stated, and then, his voice lowered as he leaned his head down to rest against Emma's trembling cheek, "But we've taken good care of your daughter, Elizabeth."

Conrad's voice rang into the conversation, "Do you really want us to send in the might of the American military against you?" So stoic. But concerned, "If you want to have nay hope of negotiations, take your hands off the girl."

Bess' fists clenched into fists at her side as the man pressed his lips against Emma's cheek, closed his eyes, and whispered, "My hands were all over her this whole time, Mr. President. You should've sped up the process on my demands if you really cared about her well-being."

Bess' chest constricted, and she turned her back to the camera, stepping out of the line of sight of the camera – and she willed her stomach to keep from seizing up and spewing all the contents of breakfast.

Thinking about that man having her daughter – watching his hands on her face, hurt her, talk lewdly to her, Bess couldn't separate the feeling of anger and absolute disgust in her body.

Conrad continued the conversation, "We don't want any harm to come to her. Do you know what we will do if you do not release her? Right now we're working on triangulating your location. But if you give yourself up now – let her go – allow us to come get her – you can go free."

Bess knew all of that was a lie. She watched Russell's face – who had been working with the directors as they attempted to track the signal – she watched as his face, out of sight from the camera – shook his head.

They didn't have a trace at all.

They had to stall.

The man seemed to know they didn't have any clue where he was. And he just shook his head, pulling himself away from Emma as he said, "Sir, it's too late for you to threaten us and for it to mean anything."

Bess whipped around – walking back into the video, and said, "You think this is a threat?" Her anger took over, and she could convince anyone of anything whenever she wanted to if she was angry enough. Her voice grew a bit louder, and much more pointed, "Remember what we did to Bin Laden? How we stopped the coup from happening less than a year ago in your country? We have the greatest spy network in the world. It's not a matter of if we find you." She stepped in front of Conrad and got close to the monitor, "It's rather a question of when we find you, how badly will we treat you. And that is up to you." And she lowered her voice and hissed, "Let go of my daughter."

Nothing she said – nothing Conrad threatened – nothing – seemed to rattle the man. He seemed to have no care in the world about being caught – found out – or tortured.

Instead he just shrugged his shoulder and said, "Your daughter is quite the fighter. I suspect she takes after you in that area, Madam Secretary."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to let out a long chain of cuss words at the bastard, but he held his hand up, and said, "But this was not a negotiating call, Mr. President."

"So you're going to give her to us?" Conrad asked, leading the man away from the statement he'd just made. A classic interrogating move to allow someone to recant after hearing their plans put into words. "I think that's…"

Bess jumped as she watched the man grab Emma's hair and rip her head backwards, her neck completely exposed as he held her there.

Bess whirled around and hissed, "Something. I need some leverage. Something. That we know…"

Then she turned back to the camera as the man said, "We're not waiting any longer." Any longer for goods? What was he… "This is to show you that we are not to be trifled with – that we mean business."

Conrad spoke as Bess stared at Emma. "Kidnapping the Secretary of States' daughter made us pay attention. We are working…"

But Bess knew Conrad wasn't changing his mind – no one would believe they were working towards anything – not when it had been months.

Bess watched as the man laughed, and pushed Emma's face to the camera, and said, "Do you have anything you want to say to your daughter, Elizabeth?" The tension in the room rose – and no one was being careful behind her as he said, "A mother's voice is normally the first thing a child hears after birth. And we thought that maybe it should be the last thing she should hear."

Bess couldn't breathe. Every muscle in her body tensed up – froze – and her jaw tightened as she looked at Conrad, her eyes wide as she said, "Conrad. Do something." And she didn't give him a chance as she looked at the camera, "Put her down. You don't want to do that. Now. Leave her alone."

Her diplomatic and commanding tone was slipping away at the thought of what he was insinuating. She whipped around and said, "Get me some INFORMATION!" And she turned back, now to find herself looking right at Emma's terrified eyes, wide with fear.

She watched as Emma's face went white – looking at something beyond the camera – and then Emma's bruised mouth began to go faster and faster as she, in Arabic, cried out, "No. Please. No." And then her eyes turned towards the screen, and she loudly called out, "Mom, don't let them. Mom… no…"

"Conrad." Bess called out, but saw he was talking to the directors, and she turned back to the screen. And watched as the scene in front of her began to fall apart.

The second man – who had been standing there doing absolutely nothing – reached down and grabbed both of Emma's arms, and pulled them behind her back, clicking them in cuffs behind her. Now Emma was standing on her own feet – held by the second, as the first man stepped behind the camera.

Her dress flew in the wind, her hair wisping around her cheeks that began to fill with tears and sand. Her black dress so out of place compared to Emma's pale skin.

Bess' eyes flew from one corner of the screen to the other – trying to figure out what was happening.

And Emma's cries grew louder as she strained against the man's hold on her cuffed arms, her head shaking back and forth while she twisted to get away. "No. Please!" She begged.

Bess called out, "Emma, what are they…"

And Emma looked straight at the camera – like a deer in the headlights – and she cried out, "Mom, don't let them do this. Mom I want to come home." And the words flew out of her mouth faster and faster and mingled with tears and sobs, "MOM! PLEASE! Bring me HOME!"

She heard Conrad, "Why can't you get a damn signal?" And his hand pounded against the table.

"Something's rerouting the signal over and over again – everytime we get it about there, it sends it through something else."

Then the sadistic man stepped back into the picture.

And Bess ripped her glasses from her face, tossing them behind her, and she pulled out every stop.

Because he held a machete in his hand. The long knife glistened in the sun as he walked over next to where Emma attempted to pull away from him.

"Listen." Bess cried out, "This is Elizabeth McCord talking, not the Secretary of State." She'd do anything. The man looked at the camera. "I know the government hasn't offered you what you wanted… but I'm her parent – I can get things for you."

The man laughed – "This is what we want now. We want American blood." He nodded, and the second man wrenched Emma down to her knees.

Bess shook her head, "No, you don't. Please. You want leverage." She couldn't stand still – she moved back and forth between her feet as she reached her hands out and said, "I can get a burner phone. You can call me – I'll go wherever you want me to. You can have me."

She would gladly go wherever they wanted her – she'd put herself in Emma's place. And she said that, "Listen…" Her words flew out, desperation strangling her. "You want ot make a statement?" She saw Emma's terrified face looking at the knife in the man's hands. "Killing my daughter doesn't make a statement to the world. But…" She pointed to her chest with shaking fingers, "Killing an American diplomat? You want recognition? That would do it. Tell me where – I'll go. You can have me."

The man shook his head, and said, "Elizabeth, we have what we want." And he pointed at the screen, "We're going to kill your daughter."

And Emma's head dropped against her chest as a loud cry rang throughout the room. Her head still shook back and forth, but the cry… had no hope.

"I'm much more…" Bess started to offer herself again, but the man interrupted her.

"If you want to say anything to your daughter before we send her to hell with the other infidels, now is the time to say it." Cold. Calculating.

Bess shook her head, and then turned to the room, and she yelled, "What the FUCK is taking so long. I need some information! Where is the seal team? Air support?"

Hauntingly, the man's voice crooned, "Elizabeth, nothing is going to save her. You're powerless. You're a failure. You can't save your daughter. The sooner you come to terms with that, the more you can tell your daughter."

And she went. From the NSA director. CIA director. Around the table. Waiting – wanting something. Anything. They had to have some information. They had been on this call for what seemed like ages. Anything.

But then she got to Russell.

The man who would shoot straight with her.

And he shook his head and said, "Bess..."

And she felt Conrad's hand in the middle of her back, and she turned to him, pulling away, and said, "Do SOMETHING CONRAD! That's our baby! My little GIRL!"

"Anything to say?" The man again antagonized.

And Emma's cries still rang through the room.

And Conrad put both his hands on her shoulders, and he looked her straight on. His eyes drilling into her. And, quietly, he said, "Bess. Emma needs you."

And Bess pointed at the screen, "She needs me to find her."

Conrad shook his head, "Bess, I'm going to negotiate. I'm going to try. But, Bess…" And he moved his face closer to hers, "Let her hear your voice. Let it help calm her."

She knew that line.

This was the line when nothing else was going to work.

Nothing else was going to change.

And her lips began to tremble, and she turned away from the camera. She leaned her hands on the table, willing her world to stop spinning, steading herself as she tried to understand.

Or. Tried to be ok with understanding.

Conrad began to negotiate.

And everyone continued working.

But if they didn't know by now – nothing would get help there in time.

"If you do this, we will hunt you until we kill you and your whole army." Conrad threatened.

"Any signal?" "No. Nothing. Rerouting us through China." "Any heat activity sensed from the drones?" "No, sir"

But one thing – one thing stayed as the tunnel began to form.

Emma's crying. A gut-wrenching, helpless cry. Fear-ful. Bess could hear as Emma's chest caught and she tried to suck in air.

Her baby needed her.

And Bess turned.

And blocked everything else out.

Blocked Conrad yelling at the man.

Ignored the pounding on the table behind her as Russell demanded they find something. Anything.

Ignored the way the man stood behind Emma.

Instead, Bess just saw Emma.

Kneeling there on the ground. Her entire body shaking as she looked at the sand underneath her knees. Her blond curls, matted with dirt and blood, clumped around her face.

She saw her baby. Afraid. Not afraid – terrified. Absolutely terrified. Alone. In the desert somewhere with horrific men.

About to die.

And Bess found her words. She found them. First they were demanding.

And loud.

"EMMA." She had to get her daughter's attention. "EMMA I need you to look at me. Emma."

After saying her daughter's name a few times, she saw Emma's eyes pierce through the video. And Bess nodded, "Good job, Emma. Just look at me. Emma…" She kept saying her daughter's name – because she needed Emma to see her – needed her to listen to her – needed to keep Emma from everything around her.

Emma shook her head, "Mom, I don't want…"

She couldn't hear it. Instead, Bess shook her head, and just started to talk. Loudly. Over everything else.

"Emma, do you remember when we got Falstaff? Do you remember how wild he was? Do you remember?" Bess brought up Emma's favorite, wild horse. Bess needed Emma to focus. "Nod your head, Em, if you remember." A nod through the crying. And Bess continued, "Remember riding him for the first time? Do you remember getting thrown off, and how you couldn't walk for a whole week?"

Bess' hands began to shake as she got distracted just a little at hearing Conrad arguing, "I can fly to Iran. I can meet with you." No. He couldn't. No one could. Last ditch efforts rarely worked. And Bess' stomach tightened, and she wished she could bend over and try to breathe. But she couldn't.

She had to keep going.

"Emma, Emma, look at me." And Emma opened her eyes and looked at the camera. "Emma, do you know how special you are to me?" Bess had to talk about emotional things without acknowledging her own emotions. Instead she began to think back, "Emma, I remember holding you. I remember the first time I held you. You were so small. So small. And you grabbed my hand…"

Bess watched as Emma looked at the camera, and then Emma said, "Mom, please. Please don't stop talking…" And The thirteen-year-old girl seemed to age in a matter of seconds. "I need to hear you."

And Bess talked. Bess talked. "You were the cutest little baby, because you were so small. All the clothes didn't fit you, and you came so early you had to sleep in a laundry basket for the first few days at home." Bess watched as they placed a hood over Emma's head, but still she kept talking, "As a baby, you wouldn't sleep unless I rocked oyu to sleep for what seemed like hours." The second man pushed Emma's head down just a little. Bess kept talking, "I would hold you and rock you, singing to you, reading to you, telling you stories, venting a little about my day… and I'd wait for that little moment just before you'd sleep." She heard almost everyone in the room's voice escalate – their attempt. Their need to try and help. Conrad forcefully yelling at the screen. The man just laughing. "And then, I'd lean down and kiss your face, and… She watched as the man raised the machete, aligning it with Emma's neck before he lifted it above his head. "I'd tell you that I loved you – I love you Emma. I love you."

Silence. She could hear it. The whizzing through the air.

And the blade came down.

"I love you, Emma."

The only blood Bess saw was the blood that splattered onto the camera before Bess' eyes flew closed while her body recoiled. Red. Dark. Blood. All the air left Bess' body.

Her hand went to her mouth, covering it in horror.

And no one in the room moved.

Not when the screen went black.

She still couldn't breathe.

She covered her face with her hands.

And lost the ability to stand.

Sinking to her knees.

Unable to breathe.

Her hands moved from her face to her hair.

And she breathed.

Gasping.

Heaving.

And then gasps. Over and over. Just air.

And she again covered her face with her hands, letting her head fall down so she rested her head against her knees.

Her nerves felt on fire – like her body was on fire – and with each breath, her chest hurt – felt like it was caving in on her – the whole world. And she began to rock back and forth.

Back and forth.

As she saw the blood. In her mind.

And then came the first sound.

A deep.

Full bodied groan that came tearing from her stomach all the way up her throat, clawing the inside of her throat, ripping her in two.

And she rocked back and forth from her feet to her knees, drowning in her grief – drowning in blood – in the blood – in tears – in her daughter's tears – in the blood – all the pictures flew through her eyes as she took a recovering breath and then another groan followed the first.

Over and over again.

Back and forth. Gasping for breath. And being sawn asunder with grief.


	18. Chapter 18

"THANKS FOR STICKING WITH ME. I KNOW THE LAST CHAPTER WAS HARD - THE NEXT FEW ARE GOING TO BE VERY TOUGH. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE REVIEWS

ALSO - I LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE SEND MESSAGES :) I LOVE CHATTING ABOUT THE STORY - AND WHAT YOUR THOUGHTS ARE - SO FEEL FREE TO SEND ME A PRIVATE MESSAGE! I'M WRITING AS FAST AS I CAN.

Russell tried to distract his mind throughout the whole negotiation. He yelled for them to hurry up and trace it – find the location.

The typing of the best analysts in the country echoed through the room – each one communicating with everyone – each one felt the tension in the air – the life-threatening situation.

He listened as Conrad's voice went from commanding to angry. And then desperate. Desperate as he tried to pull out every stop to stop what now might have been the inevitable.

But there was no distraction once the screen went blank.

No distraction to pull him away – to allow his mind to focus on something else. Nothing.

Instead he watched as one of the strongest women he knew – someone who had been through the coup in Iran – one who sat in on negotiations that would affect the world.

He watched her break.

Falling to her knees – groans that rent Russell's heart echoing through the room.

She rocked back and forth – no words uttered. There on the floor of the situation room – with the most powerful men and women in America there, watching.

Russell's eyes darted to Conrad – who almost stumbled to Bess' side – wary to get too close.

Looking at the stunned and horrified analysts and directors, he said, "Everyone out."

He knew that they needed some privacy – he wondered if later he'd consider why he didn't think about the danger of the secret getting out – but that wasn't even on his mind. He knew that this needed to be something not observed by twenty people all around them.

As the room cleared, he could hear both adult's cries mingling together. Bess gasped in breath, Conrad just quietly cried.

It wasn't until he tried to step outside – to give them some space – that he heard words.

"Henry…" An almost last ditch effort. He looked over and say Bess staring at him. Face caked with tears, her entire body breaking.

He nodded, "I'll call him over right away."

And then he stepped outside.

Leaning his back against the wall, he tried to take deep breaths. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

Which lasted maybe 30 seconds before he heard, "Mr. Jackson, Sir…"

Blake.

Russell didn't even open his eyes. "Really, right now isn't a good…" He paused, and said, "Send an envoy out – I want them to find Henry and get him here like there was a terrorist attack."

Which, in his mind, this had been.

"Of course." Blake agreed, but then asked, "Mr. Jackson…"

Russell looked at the young man, standing there – he wasn't an idiot.

"What…?" Blake asked, unable to say the words

And Russell said, "She's gone. And hell has opened up."


	19. Chapter 19

"Elizabeth…"

Nothing inside of her cared anymore. She didn't care about the look Henry was giving her as she pulled her heavy jacket on. She felt nothing as she just ignored it, turning to check her face in the mirror in front of the front door. She tucked her scarf into her jacket and pulled her sunglasses over her blood-shot eyes. She ignored the stares from her children on the stairs.

"Elizabeth, I don't think now is the time…"

She just turned to her husband, vacantly staring at him until he was silent. She noticed his own weariness… the way his hands nervously twitched at his sides, the sweatpants and t-shirt she'd seen him in maybe three or four days ago. It wasn't until his lips stopped moving after warning her that it might be too soon – that she needed some more time away… begging her to just stay home… that her work wasn't that important.

Even Bess was startled with how flat and emotionless her voice sounded. "I'm fine, Henry. I'll be back later."

She stiffened as he stepped forward, with resignation on his face – and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I love you, Elizabeth."

She smiled, kissed his cheek methodically, and walked outside to the open vehicle.

But not before she was confronted with the flashing lights of cameras and clamoring of reporters.

"Madam Secretary!"

"Madam Secretary, over here!"

The security guards sheltered her from anyone crossing over the line in front of the house. But she heard them. Heard the questions.

"How long were you and the president intimate?"

"Did your husband know about the affair?"

"Is your husband leaving you?"

But one question stood out to her. One question that hadn't been asked every time she'd left the house.

"Do you blame yourself?"

She knew she should keep going. She knew she should get in the car and go to work. Leave the clawing vermin to freeze to death outside her house.

But she could see the woman's face – the young woman. Maybe a year or two older than Stevie. She was holding out a recording device. And Bess stared at her. Bess waved her security detail off just for a second.

"What did you ask me?" Bess snapped. All her focus centered on the journalist.

"Do you blame yourself?" And the journalist looked down at the notepad in her hand before asking, "If you hadn't taken the job as Secretary of State, your daughter would still be alive. Do you think that you're to blame at all for putting her in a dangerous position?"

Bess' fists clenched in her gloves – and she felt shivers run up her spine – she bit her lip – and was thankful for her glasses that covered her eyes.

And with no emotion in her voice she said, "Go to hell." Then, to the new man on her detail, she said, "Get her out of here."

The detail shut her door. They drove her.

It had been a week since she'd been back to the Georgetown home. She'd spent a few weeks at the farmhouse. She remembered Henry being there – vacantly. There had been a warm body next to her in bed those nights. And someone made her breakfast and brought her coffee outside in the barn. But she remembered so very little other than the cold biting at her cheeks, the deep snow crunching under her boots, and the overwhelmingly empty feeling.

Everything felt empty. Like, she knew she'd drank a cup of coffee that morning – but all she could remember was the bottom of the cup. She knew she'd eaten, but even now, she felt her stomach so empty.

Her soul felt like there was a never-ending chasm, and she was waiting for her grief to shatter at the bottom that never came.

She knew she should feel loved – the dead flower carcasses from every high name in Washington littered the bottom of the trashcan outside the back door. She'd gotten the messages from her staff.

Daisy: _Ma'am, I just want you to know that my thoughts and prayers are with you. Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you._

Nadine: _The loss of a child is never something a parent is prepared for. Take all the time you need._

Matt: _I could say something about the definition of loss or pain, but I'm sure that nothing you're experiencing can ever be defined._

Blake: _Emma's smile always brightened my day. I still remember her sitting here, scuffed knee – and how she was so polite and kind. The world will never be the same without her._

The flowers at the bottom of the trashcan had been dumped there immediately after they'd arrived. Bess didn't know how long they'd been sitting in the entry-way to the house, but when she'd stumbled down from her bedroom for the first time, the minute she saw they were from Conrad, she'd ran out the door, bare-feet pounding against the patio floor as she threw the flowers into the trashcan before hurling the glass vase hard against the garden wall. She'd wished that the violent sound would soothe something inside of her.

Nothing would do that. She wondered if she'd ever again feel anything.

She'd left the house right after the funeral. She'd said goodbye to her brother and his wife. She'd kissed the kids. And had gone to the farmhouse. To get away from everything.

Thankfully, she'd been sheltered from the media when the news had broken – not the news of the funeral. But the news about Conrad. And her.

She'd seen enough when she'd returned.

The headlines: "Madam Sexcretary: The President's Kept Women." "Dalton's Love Child Tortured and Killed." "Dalton and McCord: The Untold Story." "White House and State Department Getting Too Close." "Death of McCord's Secret."

But today was the first time she was going out. Going back to work.

Russell had called, asking her to come to the – that there was a matter of National Security that the President needed her present for.

And she was tired of hiding. Tired of lying in bed. Tired of feeling empty. At least at work, there was something to keep her mind from the never-ending memories that every turn in her house brought her back to Emma.

Today she'd face him. And do her job. And go home. And maybe, just maybe, she'd sleep a little tonight.


	20. Chapter 20

PLEASE REVEW! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

As her security detail left her at the door to the Oval Office, she grimaced as she remembered how she used to pause a minute before entering the President's office. She would pull her suit jacket straight, maybe even button it. She'd mentally prepare herself for either a confrontation or offering her opinion. Normally there was rebuttal from someone – whether Sterling or Russell or even Conrad himself. So she had to be prepared. Not go in looking like she'd run over from the State department like she normally did.

Not today.

She couldn't care less what whoever was in that room would think about her coat hanging open, her bloodshot eyes with dark circles underneath them, and her face that reacted to everything with the same numbness she swam in constantly.

She knew that no person in that room could pull her out of that numbness. No world threat or political party game could penetrate the grief encasing her entire being.

Opening the door, she could see Russell standing over Conrad at the desk, some news story playing from the screen on the desk.

"Bess." Conrad acknowledged her from behind his desk as he stood up. The pity in his voice would have turned her stomach a month ago – instead, she just stood there.

She noticed the two other people in the room – both of whom would've made her spine stiffen at any other time in her political career. Sterling stood in front of the desk, turning and looking at her like she was some special exhibit at the zoo.

And Lydia sat on the couch facing her. Lydia was the last person she thought she'd see here in the Oval Office today – the first day she'd entered the office since the funeral.

The first time they'd been in the same room since her daughter's funeral.

Bess knew she should feel shame – confronted with the wife of the man she'd slept with years before. The woman who knew that she was the other woman once upon a time. The woman whose life had been turned upside down with the public revelation and analysis of her husband's infidelity. Bess knew she should say something – apologize – or at least attempt to seem penitent. Especially because Lydia just stared her down, the smeared on face of a politician that Bess had learned to distinguish anger from – the tight lipped, glare that could be taken either way in front of a camera.

Bess felt nothing.

Instead she stuck her hands into her coat, and turned her attention to where Conrad was saying something.

"It's really good to see you." He said, obviously being gentle towards who he saw as a weak woman.

Unable to address the patronizing tone he was using with her, she turned to the one person she knew would shoot straight with her. And she was glad to ignore Conrad.

"Russell, you said there was some development from the investigators on the ground in Iran?" Even Bess was impressed with how her voice sounded so emotionless.

Russell did a double take, glancing at Conrad for a second to see if the President would address the obvious slight Bess lobbed. When Conrad just nodded to Russell, the straight forward chief-of-staff gave it to her, "We thought we could eventually follow the signal to where…"

Bess just motioned him past the part that he'd reference the place where Emma had been murdered.

"… but when we sent Seal Teams in, we found nothing…"

"And by nothing you mean…" Bess questioned, now looking at Sterling.

He cleared his throat, "No evidence of any violent crime happening there, no terrorist traces around…"

She walked over and grabbed the back of the couch, and said, "Did you send in forensics? Seal teams aren't medical for…"

"Bess…" Conrad gently attempted to calm her as he walked toward her.

Bess ignored him, glaring across at Sterling. "I worked on the ground. There you're working on not getting caught. The details sometimes aren't the first…"

Sterling said, "Elizabeth, we found…"

"I want you to send in professional forensics teams to scrub everything down, I want agents on the ground questioning everyone in the area about who has been in the area in the last year!" Her voice escalated, "No stone left unturned, no witness who could remember one detail about who has done this!"

Conrad's tone was loud and fast, snapping her tirade in half. "ELIZABETH!"

She looked down at her hands clamping down on the couch as she listened to him, "They lead us to a place that wasn't the sight of the murder. They led us to a shopping center. They hid their location and directed us to wrong locations. We don't know where it happened."

She locked her jaw, and felt again like she came up against the wall. The wall she wanted to tear down brick by brick. That wall that every lead directed them to. Every single bit of evidence led them nowhere. She could do nothing. She had been helpless that day, and she was now.

Then she felt something on her shoulder.

And she looked over her shoulder and saw it was Conrad's hand.

"Bess, I'm so sorry for your loss…" Pity. Fake.

If it wasn't for him – if he'd told her about the threats, she'd have known. They could've put a security detail on her daughter.

None of this.

None of it would've happened.

Emma would be in school.

Would've been there when Bess got home from school.

"I wish I could make it better."

He'd said the same thing that night in Baghdad as she sat, mourning what she thought was the loss of her marriage over her fourth or fifth glass of whiskey. And he'd ordered more.

"It's hard to see you in pain like this."

He'd said that before telling her he could help with her pain that night.

And now her daughter was gone. All because of his image. All because he didn't want the American people to find out about what had happened.

His hand suddenly felt like a hot iron on her skin.

And her spy training took over. As she hissed, "It's your fault."

And with speed she didn't know she still hand, both her hands clamped around his wrist while her hip jutted to the side into his torso. She leveraged her elbow back like a pulley. Using her body weight, she effortlessly flipped him through the air, and pushed down hard as he landed on the ground on his back.

Looking up at her, gasping for the air that had been knocked out of him – Bess could see his wide eyes – fear.

She looked down at him, feeling completely numb. Staring at him while Russell and Sterling ran over to Conrad – and Secret Service surrounded the President. She was pushed aside.

She knew she should feel something. Whether anger. Or even fear over throwing the leader of the Free World to the ground in his office. Vindication.

Nothing. Instead she just stood there – watching.

And she heard a voice from beside her. And she heard Lydia's passive, snake-like voice that caustically said, "Maybe you two should've thought about this before you fucked."


	21. Chapter 21

_HOPE EVERYONE IS DOING WELL OVER THE HOLIDAYS. IVE DECIDED TO SKIP AHEAD (SEASON 6 SPOILERS AHEAD JUST FYI. WE WILL GO BACK AND COVER SOME THINGS, I PROMISE. I DO. DONT FREAK OUT. BUT. I WANTED EVERYTHING IN CONTEXT. AND THIS IS GOING TO HELP. PLEASE REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!_

* * *

"Blake, do I have any time this afternoon for lunch with the First Gentleman?" Bess asked, trying not to sound distracted while she signed paper after paper on her desk. Morning stacks of paper were one of her least favorite things about the job. And having to schedule time to even see her husband.

Setting down a cup of coffee down on her desk, Blake cleared his throat, "Ma'am, today you have a scheduled meeting with the Department of Justice, then a photo op with the children from the National Spelling Bee." He fiddled with the papers, lining them up as he continued to list thing after thing that Bess knew meant she wasn't going to get to see Henry this afternoon.

She sipped the coffee, her mind wandering to the only conversation she'd had with Henry since he'd gotten back from his trip. This morning at five am, when she'd leaned over, kissed him in his sleep. His muffled, "Good morning…" had brought a smile to her face watching the way he smiled in his sleep without even opening his eyes.

Blake cleared his throat yet again, and Bess nodded. "Well, can I get away a little early tonight?" Until she looked up and saw his face. And she shrugged and muttered, "Thought I'd at least ask…"

"If we can keep Russell Jackson from blowing his top about the House vote this morning, we may be able to get you out by 10?"

Bess rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. "As if that's going to happen…"

Then she muttered, "Speaking of the devil…"

Russell Jackson entered, his notepad tucked underneath his left arm, phone in his right hand drawing all his attention. That didn't keep him from loudly declaring, "Well, we're screwed. Senator Hanson's spewing conspiracy theories left and right." He chuckled as he looked up, "Got to give him credit. Takes a lot of talent to transfer that much shit from his ass to his mouth at this breakneck speed."

Bess just shook her head, "Thanks Blake." He nodded, taking the papers she'd signed and turning towards the door. "Oh!" Bess asked, "Can you tell Henry that I'll…"

Blake knew what she meant, "… plan to see him tonight sometime?"

Bess nodded.

"We're going to have to spin this story like we've never spun before."

"Russell, you know that I don't like spinning things. Why can't we just say that…" She stood up, turning towards the window, "it's not true? That he's just making this stuff up? Truth is on our side."

She could feel Russell's condemnation hitting her back, "You do know that's not how Washington works, right? He's accusing you of having personal interest in the oil fields, tying your name to the failed bill from Congress, and pretty much accusing you of using your office to pad your pockets."

Bess let him go on. Spacing out a little bit. Knowing it gave him a second to get his frustrations out – making room for his great problem solving skills that always seemed to save the day.

"We'll need to get Senator Lowell to release a statement with the documents that show the bill has been held up in Congress not here… then we'll have the Vice President give an interview in which he can assure people that…"

Bess was used to the continual babble from her Chief of Staff. It helped her work things out in her head. Normally, Russell could go on and on.

So when he was silent mid-sentence, Bess turned around, a little confused. He was, as they found him most times of the days, staring at his phone.

"What now?" Bess asked, checking the clock to see just how early this morning she felt exhausted. "If you say someone blew up an island or another animal has gone extinct, I just want to ask that maybe I could have some kind of brief on my desk in the morning to at least prepare me for…"

"Bess."

He never called her Bess. And never was he so quiet. Solemn. And when his eyes met hers, the fear in his eyes made her breath catch.

"What is…"

"Madam President…" Blake called out from behind Admiral Hill and Director Doherty as they came rushing into her office.

Bess took a deep breath. Knowing scheduling was the least of her worries for whatever was about to come up.

"We just received a message from a terrorist group in Iran." Ellen began, as she stood in front of Bess' desk. Her hands were shaking. A decorated officer's hands shaking didn't do much for Bess' confidence.

"Saying…" Bess asked.

"It's a video." The CIA director said as he set a screen down on her desk. As Bess put her glasses on, he explained, "We've had our eyes on this group for a little while. They've been reprimanded in the past by the Iranian government, and have done little to warrant any actions on our part in the past."

Bess looked over her glasses. "But today I'm guessing something changed…"

"Yes ma'am."

She looked down, waiting for the video to play.

"Madam President." The man on the video started. An accented voice from a man dressed in jihadist clothing. Somewhere in the desert, a tent of some sort. He was holding an automatic weapon; his face was covered. Nothing out of the ordinary with terrorist videos.

"We have something you might want."

A hostage. "Tourist?" Bess asked as she looked up to the advisors standing in her office. They shook their heads. "Red Cross doctor?" Again. No.

Then the screen switched.

Someone, probably a woman standing against a stone wall. She was dressed in the traditional burka for that region, completely covered in black.

Bess looked up again, still confused. "What…"

"Bess you may want to…"

The video continued as the man ripped off the covering from the woman's head.

Bess' heart sunk. It was a hostage. A woman stared at the ground. But her pale skin was a giveaway that the woman didn't belong there. "The journalist taken a few weeks ago?" Bess asked. The woman looked to be young. No older than twenty. Someone so young, Bess steeled herself against all the emotions that rose. Only a few years younger than Jason.

"Tell them who you are!" The man yelled in Arabic from the background.

The woman muttered something unintelligible. But her eyes remained on the ground. Her hands held firmly in front of her with ropes. Her long blond hair hung down over her face.

"Louder!" The man again yelled in Arabic. "And look at the camera!"

"She can speak Arabic." Bess analyzed out loud. "Someone immersed in the culture?" Why wasn't anyone answering…

Visibly shook up, the woman looked up. Her blue eyes finding the camera.

And Bess stopped. Had she met this journalist before? She looked so familiar. But no one that young was a journalist in the White House. And even back at State… that had been a few years before. Bess normally remembered faces…

"My name is…" The woman paused, as if the words were uncomfortable on her tongue. "My name is Emma McCord."

Her heart stopped.

Bess felt every muscle in her body freeze, as if transported back in time and at the same time in the room. Nothing could make her turn away from the screen, but somehow she also made eye contact with Russell.

 _Bess. Talk to her. She needs her mother._

Bess could see it. The blood. The cries of terror from her twelve-year-old child.

That room as Conrad negotiated with no hope of stopping the execution.

The funeral. The empty casket.

"Madam President…" She heard the words like she was underwater. In a tank. That was why she couldn't breathe.

But without thought, Bess seized the screen and brought it closer…

Looking at this woman. Sure that this was not true.

"I watched her die." Bess whispered.

But she traced her fingers across the girl's face… the way her nose turned up slightly. The dimples. The jawline.

When the video feed cut to the man again, Bess held so tightly to the screen she thought it might disintegrate in her hands.

"We want to make a deal." The man said. "We will be in touch."

And the screen went blank.

And Bess sat down. Unable to stand any longer.

"What the hell did I just see?" She pointedly asked.

All inside her she wanted to be angry. And terrified. And skeptical. And absolutely horrified.

"Ma'am, we're…"

And she bit out, "Russell I want every head of intelligence in here in two minutes." And she glared over the desk, "I want them NOW!"

Russell went out briefly before coming in, "They're on their way." And then he started, "Bess, we had…"

"Oh no." Bess interrupted with her voice and hand. "Save it." She would have none of his talking incessantly today. "No, I want everyone in here before I unleash hell on everyone in here if this really is her."

Was it her? Was she allowed to hope that Emma was still…

Bess quelled it inside of her, unwilling to open the box that had almost destroyed her for years.

"I want to know where this video is from, what this terrorist group is doing, and how credible this is." She stood up, trying not to sway on her feet. She called out to Blake, "Call the residence. Tell Henry I'm on my way." She looked at Russell and the advisors, "And when I get back, you'd better have one hell of an explanation for this." And she glared between the three of them, "And you'd better pray fucking hard, because as of right now, I want to fire the whole fucking lot of you."


	22. Chapter 22

_AGAIN, PLEASE REVIEW. THIS CHAPTER IS ONE IM VERY PROUD OF - I TOLD A FRIEND IT MIGHT BE THE BEST I'VE WRITTEN BEFORE. PLEASE LET ME KNOW!_

* * *

"… she's on her way to the Residence…" Henry knew by Blake's voice that something was wrong. Especially when he left the sentence hanging by a thread.

He felt the jet lag as he set down the paper beside his bowl of cereal on the table. Elizabeth had said he should sleep in that morning – "You deserve a little down time after all the jet lag from the last week" – and he wished his body would cooperate with sleeping. But ever since coming to the White House, he always felt like he should be doing something. Working on the new Veteran policies, arranging his schedule to best help Elizabeth with his appearances to further her own policies, and just being present in the children's lives.

The first week after they'd had all the things moved from the Brownstone into their new living quarters, Henry had unpacked the last box and huffed, "Never before have we been unpacked this fast."

Bess had laughed, and said, "Well that's because you can't sit still for any amount of time." Then she'd added apologetically, "I'm sorry I wasn't around more to help with all the unpacking… it's just with the whole Russia thing and…"

Henry had interrupted her, "Don't apologize." Then he looked around the room and said, "I think the legendary ghosts of President's past are haunting me with the never-ending fears that I'm not doing enough… sitting around doesn't seem like an option."

Those feelings had continued to this day, even after a fifteen stop trip all over the world. Which was why he'd woken up just a few minutes after Elizabeth left, got up like every day, and was sitting at the table eating breakfast when Blake called.

"Blake, what's wrong?" Henry asked, his mind going into overdrive about what could be enough for Elizabeth to have Blake call ahead and inform him of her arrival. Nuclear war? No, security would've been called into the residence to take them somewhere safe underground. Another mass shooting at the border? No, Henry knew his wife enough to know she'd be in control mode and would be right at the frontlines doing her job. He pulled the phone away from his ear just to make sure that none of the kids had tried to get ahold of him with some emergency. Nothing.

And Blake's stuttering on the other end didn't help Henry at all.

Henry looked up when he saw movement. And he saw Elizabeth leaning her back against the doorframe. Her arms were wrapped around her, as if to try and comfort herself. She'd kicked off her heels somewhere on the way up. But it was her face that signaled to Henry that something was very wrong. Her eyes were scrunched up, her lips pulled tight. She was trying not to cry. Not to break.

Blake's words, "well, I'm not sure she wants…" were drowned out as Henry set the phone on the table.

"Babe?"

She shook her head, as if commanding her body not to cry. Outside of the residence, Elizabeth maintained her firm, all business attitude. She said that people wouldn't take her seriously as President if she showed any emotional response to situations. But this.

Henry stood up right away, starting to walk to her. But her voice broke as she choked, "It's Emma…"

His brain could not process fast enough. "Wh…"

She swallowed, and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, Henry, I don't know what to do."

Henry had watched her grieve before. Even while they were at the State department, she'd come home from work enough times, absolutely tortured about how she'd not done enough to save their daughter – how much she missed their little girl – or how much the pain of losing their youngest still rang true even after three years. Every year on the anniversary of Emma's death, there was a solemnity to his wife.

But this?

He reached out and touched her arm gently, "Babe, it's ok to feel it again." Normally he knew what set it off, but there were days and things that reminded her of Emma, and she'd have a rough day with grieving. He always wanted to be her safe place, where she didn't have to be the President, and could soften and feel her emotions.

But she shook her head again. And took a deep breath. "Henry…" And she turned towards him, "Someone just sent a ransom video."

Henry's mind began to stumble over the impossible. "What…"

And she began pacing. Pacing and talking out loud.

"Henry, I think it was her. Men had her."

Emma? "But it's been four years…"

"The girl looks so different. Looks to be about 18 or 19…." Her words rattled off as her brain began to process it. "And Emma would only be 16…"

Henry couldn't move. Instead he just stuttered, "And we both saw the other video…"

Bess nodded, "Yes. And that's impossible, right? It's impossible for her to…" He knew what she couldn't say. She never wanted to say that it was impossible for Emma to have survived that. He had seen it. There was too much blood. Much too much. "And that video was torn apart for any alterations. There's no way…"

She paced back and forth – and Henry stood there, watching.

"And now that I'm President, they've found someone who looks like her, and they're trying to get me to do what they want…"

But Henry could read her voice. He knew.

And then she turned, her blue eyes begging him to talk her out of it. "Henry, tell me."

He just stared at her.

She moved over and touched his arm as her eyes searched his, "You've got to tell me not to." Her eyes filled with unshed tears, "You've got to talk me out of the hope I can feel rising up… Henry…" she begged, "Please… I can't have them dashed yet again. It took me too long to move on… I wanted so long for her to still be alive… I can't… I can't hope again." And her voice caught, "Because I'll never survive the fall if it's not true."

He knew that to be true. He'd seen his wife broken before – the hard days with losing people in operations and her trauma in Iran. But Emma's abduction and murder had been something he hadn't been sure she'd come back from. It took them so long. And he knew she couldn't take another fall.

But he also knew one other thing.

"Honey." He said, taking her shoulders in his hands and returning her stare, "You know what you have to do."

She nodded, biting her lip.

He had to keep her strong. "You've got to be strong."

And she whispered, "I've got to see if it's real."

Henry nodded, urging her along, "You have to do your job." Keep it in the realm of the job. Keep her emotions from getting attached. "You have to treat it like…"

And he felt her body growing stronger in his arms as her mind wrapped around what he was saying. And she began talking herself out of her emotions. "Treat it like any other ransom case. Because that girl is being used. Whether she's a plant or…"

And Henry stopped her mind from going there, "Or something else…" And he firmly said, "Your job would be no different."

"Identify the senders, send in a rescue team, and bring the American home." She sounded strong. And she stepped back, "Cold. Hard. And unwavering." She chanted to herself.

Henry nodded, watching as she stepped away and pulled her heels on, one at a time.

She looked at him once more as she exhaled deeply. "Just do my job."

He agreed.

She was halfway out the door before she turned, and quietly asked, "Can you take a…"

Henry knew what she was asking him. And he agreed, "Have General Hill send it to my assistant. I'll take a look at it."

She smiled, but her smile never met her eyes. She could feel nothing, and he knew it. Because if she did, the emotional disaster could be too much.

It wasn't until she was gone that Henry fell backwards into the chair, trying to breathe deeply. His emotions hit him as he began to break.

And he was glad she hadn't turned around.

Because if she had, she would've seen him sitting there, face in his hands, body shaking as he sobbed. As his hope grew – and his knowledge that the hope might shatter and break them all.


	23. Chapter 23

_LONG LONG LONG LONG LONG CHAPTER HERE - I HOPE YA'LL ENJOY THIS. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW. IVE DONE SO MUCH WRITING SO REVIEWS WILL HELP GET ME INTO TEH MOOD TO WRITE SOME MORE!_

* * *

Elizabeth resisted the urge to play the video over and over again. Henry said he'd look at it. And if she looked at it one more time – she'd…

Start to hope.

And she couldn't hope if it wasn't true.

Henry's words rang in her mind, "Treat it like any other part of your job. Bring the American citizen home."

The National Security Council had been summoned right after her conversation with Henry. They'd listened to a great tongue lashing – perhaps the best she'd ever gave before. She threatened to fire anyone who fucked up again if this was all true.

IF.

They'd gotten right to work – each one utilizing every part of their authority to get to the truth. They'd devoured the old video, searching for some discrepancy. Ellen Hill had taken a head role in all of it. She'd come to Elizabeth after the group meeting – and had extended her sincere apologies if anything had come of something she'd missed. She'd assured Elizabeth that she'd do her hardest – would move heaven and earth – to get to the bottom of the whole thing. Ellen had even teared up a little bit – sympathizing with Elizabeth in the fact that she too was a mother, and she couldn't imagine the pain of all of this.

But now. Elizabeth had to have a difficult conversation with one person she'd been glad to write off after the funeral.

She waited in her office, trying to steel herself for what was yet to come.

Her phone rang, and she answered it.

"Ma'am," Blake said, "He's here."

Elizabeth wished she could actually wrap some steel around herself and appear stronger for all of what was to come. "Thank you, Blake." She took a deep breath. "Send him in."

As the door opened, she remained sitting behind the desk.

He looked older. Even more gray, especially in the scruff across his chiseled chin. Dressed in a suit and tie, she knew he'd dressed up for the visit with her – especially after his retirement.

"Bess." The low tone of his voice brought back enough memories to overwhelm her even behind his old desk.

"Conrad." She acknowledged. It wasn't until she watched him feel uncomfortable about where to sit while she was behind the desk that she stood up and gestured to the couch. "Thanks for coming today."

He unbuttoned his coat as he sat down, sitting on the edge of the couch, "I was surprised to hear from Blake." She saw small smile crack across his face. "Hopefully you didn't call me to be the first to tell me about nuclear war?"

Elizabeth shook her head as she sat down, "Nope."

When it was quiet for a few seconds, Conrad's face became even more serious. And he quietly said, "I know things have been tense since Emma's funeral." He stared uncomfortably at his hands. "The for the press meeting before your election didn't give us much time to talk."

"It didn't." And had she been fine with that? Yes.

"You know I don't hold resigning from State against you, right?"

The resignation letter had been sent to Conrad through Blake. She'd had specific instructions about the state of her staff – that the deputy secretary who would fill in until another one had been appointed would keep her staff on – and that the next one would either keep her staff on or find comparable positions for all of them.

Elizabeth nodded. "Conrad…"

He seemed to need to get words out – to justify. "Bess, no one was prepared for all that followed." She looked at her hands so she didn't have to meet his eyes. Not when discussing the aftermath of everything. "For the news to be leaked like that – for everyone to start name-calling, stalking, and judging us based on years before, it wasn't right."

She spoke up, "After the initial shock from the reporting, I didn't mind that they blamed you for indiscretion in hiring me." She hadn't. Had been a small spot of irony in the whole thing.

Conrad shrugged uncomfortably while grimacing, "You always were the favorite in the public opinion polls." Then he gestured around the room, "The whole thing couldn't have hurt your image too bad – seeing where you are now."

Elizabeth let them sit in silence again – which apparently wasn't comfortable for Conrad, who again had to fill the air with words, "Lydia wanted me to say hello." And he added, "She was just sick after everything with Emma happened – she couldn't imagine what you were going through."

And with that, Elizabeth felt no need to continue in the façade. "So I called you in to read you in on a situation that came up today."

He sat back, watching her. And Elizabeth just stayed poised – using her CIA skills to meticulously watch his face as she continued, "We're investigating and gathering information about an American citizen being held for ransom."

Conrad nodded, "Ok. Which terrorist group?"

Elizabeth ignored that. She needed to see his reaction without letting him know what they had on it. "They're claiming that the hostage is Emma."

Suddenly all pretense fell away. Conrad's face fell and he sat forward, expectantly asking, "And… is it true?"

She held her head high as she said, "We're looking into it." Then she leaned forward, staring at him directly – holding his gaze, "Conrad, I've read the files. I've reread them today." She watched for his face to break. For some sign to flash across his eyes. "What else is there?"

He looked like he was searching for memories. But honestly.

"Bess, I don't think… the only thing I remember was how confusing it was."

Elizabeth remembered. "We're reanalyzing the data now with new technology." She stood up – and grabbed the pictures from her desk, "These are from the video."

Conrad searched them, one by one. "I don't recognize anything about this… normally I'll recognize some pattern… but maybe retirement has gotten to me."

She shook her head, "From what we can tell, there's major differences in the styles, the video used, the sophistication." She walked over to her desk and leaned against it facing Conrad. "Which is what's leading us to think it's a fake."

Conrad stood, "So you don't think this is…" He looked down at the picture, "You don't think it's her?"

"I do know that she's being held against her will." Elizabeth couldn't let herself think that. And as she met Conrad's eyes – she knew he understood. "And I know it's my job to figure out how to get her home. And after that we…"

"Bess, what's your gut telling you?"

She walked behind the desk – her back to Conrad. "You know how this is, Conrad. You know I can't go there… the CIA was different – all about gut." She turned around, "This job here? You above everyone else should understand. This job's about duty – about doing the pragmatic thing."

He walked over and handed her the pictures back. And he stepped away. "I know better than probably anyone on your staff." And Elizabeth nodded, "But always check your gut, Bess. If your gut's telling you something – you gotta trust it. If you don't, you'll regret it… I know I did."

Vulnerable. He was being honest.

"You regret?" She asked.

He put his hands in his pockets and nodded his head, "I wish I would've trusted my gut about a lot of things. But I knew in my gut that your children should've had protection. I wanted nothing to ever get out about Emma." And he bit his lip before saying, "But my gut said it might and I should have her protected."

Bess clenched her hands into fists, "You should've." She bit out.

He nodded. "I wish I could change it."

She whispered, "Me too."

Then a knock sounded at her door. "Ma'am…" Blake opened the door just a little, "You have a visitor…"

She nodded knowingly, "Tell her I'll be just a minute?" Then she turned to Conrad. "Russell said he could fill you in. If you'd be willing to give a statement to the NSC about anything else that went on…"

Conrad agreed, "Of course, anything I can do, Bess." He opened the door, and said, "Let me know if there's anything else… Ah." Conrad said as he saw Elizabeth's next appointment. And he looked over his shoulder and said, "You always get the best."

"Russell will be right with you." Elizabeth stated pointedly. She didn't need to discuss her choices with him. Not when it came to this. She needed any information from him – not his approval.

Conrad's attempt at civility could be heard even from Elizabeth's office. "Isabelle. It's nice to see you again."

Isabelle walked past him, with soft smile for him. "Conrad."

Blake walked in past Isabelle, a few files in hand as he walked to the desk. His eyes met Elizabeth's and he lifted his eyebrows and whispered, "Not much love lost between the two of them…"

And Elizabeth just shook her head, understanding why. "Thanks, Blake."

"These are the hourly updates in the case you requested." He said, "I've also rescheduled your meetings for the rest of the day. Although I know that the Vice President wasn't all that excited to be doing the quarterly climate crisis talk…"

She nodded, acknowledging Blake while gesturing to the couch for Isabelle. "Could you reschedule that for when I'm…"

"Already in the works, Ma'am." Blake said, just a little proud of the job he had done knowing what she'd want already.

Once the door closed behind her assistant, Elizabeth opened the folder.

"So… meeting with Conrad…" Isabelle said, sitting down and moving one of the couch pillows, "How'd that go?" Elizabeth could feel the questioning sarcasm in her friend's voice.

"There's a situation, Izzie." Elizabeth said, distracted by the folder in front of her. From Ephraim Ware's report, she could tell that Cybercom was currently reviewing all the past negotiations and videos from four years before. They were also working on finding the location from where the video was sent. Files on each leader in the insurgent group they thought responsible were in there as well.

She looked up over her glasses at her friend. Her close friend. One of her only.

"I figured that was why I was here." Isabelle cracked a smile, "We've never been ones for girls night just for the fun of it."

Elizabeth walked over to the couch and sat down opposite her friend. "There was a ransom video sent this morning." The spy face took over Isabelle's face. Analyzing. Calculating. Absorbing information. "An insurgent group in Iran is holding a girl and claiming that they have the president's daughter."

Isabelle took in a deep breath. But said nothing.

They knew each other well.

Elizabeth continued. "Trying to keep myself separate from the situation is harder than I thought it would be. I know that I have to do something. But I can't cave to just any terrorist group who claims they have my daughter – especially one that I watched others kill years ago."

Isabelle nodded in understanding. "Gotta give them credit. Takes a lot of guts to resurrect that." Then she leaned forward, "So whatcha going to do?"

"I've got to get some serious intel on it." Elizabeth handed her the file. "Sending in a team if we find a location could prove dangerous. Sitting ducks perhaps."

Isabelle flipped through the file, holding up the pictures from the video. "I can see a resemblance. But it is hard because she was young so aging would be hard to guess."

Elizabeth nodded. She checked herself before thinking hopefully.

"I'm guessing you called Conrad in to see if he had any information that might help." Isabelle prodded.

Shrugging her shoulders, Elizabeth added, "That among other things – thought it would be courteous."

"More than he gave you, that's for sure." The sarcasm in Isabelle's voice made Elizabeth smile.

"There's no love lost between the two of you, that's for sure."

She set the folder down beside her before answering, "Bess, after the things I've watched him do to you, the way he almost destroyed your marriage, played politics over safety, and threw you under the bus? Ignoring him is the nicest thing I can say to him. Because you know I'd love to tell him to go…"

"Yup." Elizabeth interrupted her, "And you've seen it all, so you get it."

"Oh, I've seen it all." Isabelle sat back, obviously angry as she remembered, "I'll never forget coming to see you in the hotel, after Henry had kicked you out. Could you have picked more of a hellhole than you did?"

Elizabeth smiled at the memory, "I don't know if DC has any worse places."

"You probably could've gotten pregnant just sleeping on those filthy sheets." They both laughed. "But the fact that Conrad just abandoned you – told you that you'd ruined your life – and that because you'd told Henry you'd put his whole political career at risk?"

The memory flashed. "And I was so sick…"

"I got there and you were sobbing with your head in the toilet from the morning sickness…"

"Maybe that's where our friendship really developed." Elizabeth said, "Other than the time I saved your life in Baghdad."

Isabelle replied, "Oh, so that's how we're spinning it… well, we both know I saved your life…"

Elizabeth smiled, "Always the disagreement."

A knock on the door came just a millisecond before the door opened. Blake's voice called out, "Ma'am…"

Elizabeth stood to her feet as Director Ware and Admiral Hill walked into the room. The pressure in the room jumped so high. She could feel the tension – and the folders in their hands felt like ticking time bombs until she could figure out what they contained.

"Madam President," Ellen began, her voice tense enough to cause the hairs on Elizabeth's arms to stand up straight. "I'm sorry to interrupt but we've found something."

Putting her glasses on, Elizabeth took the folder from Ellen. "What is it?"

Russell had walked into the room behind them. "It's classified…"

Then Elizabeth realized all her advisors were looking at Isabelle, who just sat there.

"Someone's going to have to ask me to leave…" Isabelle said. "I'm not sure where I fit in here but…"

Elizabeth hadn't even thought of that. Not when Isabelle was so important to the plan she had. "Consider yourself read in." She said to her friend, and turned back to the folder. In her hands, she had four pictures in her hand – pictures that she had wanted never to see again.

"Ma'am we've had our technicians analyzing both videos… the one from four years agon and the one this morning." Ephraim began explaining while Ellen had set up a screen on her desk. "When this first happened, we hadn't been able to triangulate the location."

"But with our new technology, we ran through the videos again, thinking that if we compared them, we'd be able to see similarities between the two if it was the same group." Ellen said.

By this time, everyone gathered around the screen.

"So it's the same person?" Elizabeth asked.

"We don't think so." Ellen said, "But that wasn't the thing we found."

"This isn't a TV spy drama." Russell sarcastically commented, "Just fucking tell us already."

Isabelle snorted, "I'm surprised you've seen spy dramas."

Russell rolled his eyes, "A man's gotta destress sometimes."

"And that's how you choose to do it?" Isabelle asked, "Took you more as a panda cam sort of…"

"It depends on the day." Russell bit back.

Feeling like she was at home with her teenagers, Elizabeth silenced them quickly, "Are you two done yet?"

Under his breath, Russell mumbled, "Not yet but fine."

Starting the video, Ellen said, "In the files we saw that there was a discrepancy of length between the video we'd all reacted to, which had been analyzed by the departments and the video that was included in DIA's files."

Elizabeth's mind began to sift through the information… "One was shorter…"

Ephraim nodded, "The one we were shown was shorter. Which means we were missing about a minute of footage."

"A minute of…" Elizabeth asked. "How did that…"

Ellen interrupted, "Sorry, ma'am. We're looking into that. But the important part was the minute that was excluded." Before she pushed play, she explained what Elizabeth didn't need to know. Where in the footage they were. "This is just seconds before the video ended."

"Here's the video we all saw."

Elizabeth could feel all the things that she'd felt that day. Watching the blade swing down, watching the blood. Feeling the horrific nature of a beheading – watching her little girl's head fall to the ground. It was enough to make her stomach turn over and over again.

Then the screen went black.

"Thanks for sharing that with us yet again." Russell quietly mumbled. "Wasn't planning on sleeping tonight anyway."

The video went back a few seconds as Ellen paused it just as the blade was held above it.

Ephraim added. "This is what was erased. Erased."

Elizabeth leaned in, as did Isabelle and Russell.

There, they watched as Emma was ripped from the sand, and Elizabeth's heart stopped. Full of confusion and fear. Emma's hooded figure was pushed off screen.

Then they all watched as from the other side of the video another figure, with matching clothes and hood, was shoved back into Emma's place in the sand. Her clothes were arranged perfectly. And the man raised the blade up perfectly.

And the rest of the video continued – the same outcome as before.

When the video went silent that time, everyone was quiet.

Her brain went wild.

And she tried to contain her rage as she began putting the pieces together.

"Oh. My. God." Isabelle whispered.

Ellen broke the silence. "There's credence to the fact that this might be your daughter."

Elizabeth threw her glasses onto the desk before she began pacing.

Isabelle began.

They knew how things worked. They figured things out together.

"The video was manipulated." Isabelle fired out.

"But was played for us in real time." Elizabeth fired back.

"The first part was."

Elizabeth turned around as she reached the end of the office, her head following the carpet while she rambled, "It was pieced together."

"But in real time."

"Both recorded at the same time – fed into the other."

Ephraim interjected, "To make it seem…"

But Isabelle and Elizabeth didn't need him to figure this out. Elizabeth interrupted, "But the triangulations didn't work. We couldn't find one video much less two…"

Isabelle: "But if the longer one was stored in DIA…"

Elizabeth stopped. And stared at Isabelle. "It was pieced from this side."

"Our side."

Ellen and Ephraim nodded.

And then Russell caught up. "Fuck."

The temperature in the room dropped multiple degrees.

And Elizabeth spat out the words, "This was an inside job. Someone on this side wanted everyone to think that Emma was dead."

"And if this was an inside job." Isabelle added, "It explains why nothing could be done on our part to find her. Like she'd just vanished."

Russell responded with anger as he came to the conclusions. "Fuck!"

"We need to go over all the evidence again." Elizabeth commanded. Then added, "No. I need a task force set up. No one from defense. I want my team. And the best NEW techs." Then she yelled, "BLAKE!"

The door swung open, "Ma'am?"

"I want Jay, Nadine, Matt, and Daisy brought immediately."

The fear on his face appeared as his eyes widened, "Are they in…"

Ellen interjected, "With all respect, Ma'am, I think we can set up a…"

Elizabeth shook her head, "I want people who are completely vetted – no one from the last investigation. But my people – I know them. I trust them. I want them in here right away and on it."

"Yes Ma'am." Both Ephraim and Ellen echoed – followed by Blake's own acknowledgment.

"I want everyone investigated." Elizabeth commanded. "I want each and every person who could be responsible for this held accountable."

Ephraim looked up from his phone and said, "Ma'am. I just got word from our techs. They have a location for the most recent video."

"Where?" Russell asked.

They pulled up a map on the screen. "An underground storage building about two hours outside of Tehran in the desert."

"We can get the SEALS there in three hours." Ellen said.

And the room stopped. Elizabeth knew what she needed. Knew now that her plan would come to fruition.

"Izzie?" Elizabeth asked, turning to her friend.

No words were exchanged. Instead Isabelle knew what she was asking. A small nod signaled that not only did Isabelle know what Elizabeth was asking. But that she knew why and what would be required.

"You know I would go if I could." Elizabeth said to her friend.

Isabelle shook her head, "You need to stay here and run the country."

And Elizabeth turned to Ellen, "I want all information about the mission given to Isabelle. Isabelle will be the point leader." She knew she'd get push back from the Commanders, so she set herself as the authority and refused to back down. "I trust no one more than I do Isabelle. We don't know who our enemy is on the inside. Isabelle has skills to both act and analyze in the field. And…" Elizabeth caught herself before letting her voice break. "Emma knows Isabelle. I want Isabelle there on the ground."

Everyone nodded.

"I want updates sent immediately." Elizabeth instructed as the commanders walked to the door.

"Yes, Ma'am." They said in tandem.

"Russell," Elizabeth pulled his attention from his phone, "I want you to oversee the task force." Then she clenched her teeth together as she said, "I want Conrad questioned."

His eyebrows raised, asking a question without words.

"Yes, I'm sure." Elizabeth said, "If he knew any of this, I swear to God I'll have him strung up by his balls and skin him alive."

"Well then." Russell said, "Let me get on it."

Just as Isabelle was to leave, Elizabeth said, "Izzie…"

And Isabelle's brown hair twisted in the air as she swung around to look at Elizabeth, "I know."

"And you'll do it?"

Isabelle nodded, "You know my training. I'll take care of it."

And Elizabeth added, "Please bring her home."

"What else is a godmother for…" Isabelle smiled sadly, "than to bring their goddaughter back from her terrorist kidnappers?"

"Thank you." Elizabeth whispered.


	24. Chapter 24

OK. REVIEW. THIS ONE. THIS ONE IS EMOTIONAL. PLEASE REVIEW.

* * *

Gazing up at the grandiose steeples, stained glass windows, Henry hesitated at the steps up to the grand cathedral. "Please tell Elizabeth where I am if she needs me…" Henry instructed the security guards stationed outside.

"Of course, Dr. McCord."

Henry knew they'd already swept the inside. And they'd informed him that other than the parish priest, there was no one else in the church.

Even so, Henry made sure the door shut quietly behind him before he walked to the holy water font. After performing the sign of the cross, he found a seat quietly towards the back. A slight kneel before he entered the pew, he could not take his eyes off the cross at the altar.

He wondered whether his thoughts could be classified as prayers. Yet, as he knelt down in the pew, and folded his hands to prayer, all he could think of was the pain.

The weight of the cross fell heavily upon Henry's soul, like a knife finding the pain and piercing it – prodding it – pain to find the pain.

But he could find no words – nothing.

Nothing but the anger. And out loud he whispered, "You take her from us, make us grieve, tear our lives apart and then throw the possibility of seeing our little girl again back in front of us only to maybe let her die in her rescue."

He knew he'd get no answer. What else was he expecting? He didn't know why he was here in the first place.

He sat back in the pew – the position of prayer no longer something he cared to be in. Instead he stared at the cross and said, louder, "Why give us hope and then strip it from us? Are we simply toys in your grand game of pretend?"

All the fear he'd felt – all the terrible things he'd imagined those animals had done to his daughter – all the pain he'd felt watching Elizabeth come to him and tell him that they'd lost track of Isabelle – and they didn't know if they'd all been killed. "To get so close only to have…" He pounded his fist on the pew in front of him, "What are you doing? Why can't you make this right? What could you POSSIBLY be doing with this?"

From behind him, a soft-spoken voice of a man jarred Henry from his angry tirade against the cross. "If only that was how God worked."

Henry turned around to find the priest there, a few rows behind him.

Apologetic, Henry said, "I'm sorry." He stood up to leave, "I can be angry outside – I didn't mean to…"

The old man's hand reached up and settled on Henry's arm. Henry found the man's eyes to be compelling – soft, kind – deep.

"What better place to question God than the church?" The priest whispered, gesturing to the pew, "Please stay."

Henry sat sideways on the pew, looking back at the man. The silence felt deafening for Henry, while the man seemed to take sweet bliss from the quiet. From the space where Henry's questions still floated in the air.

After a few minutes, Henry broke the silence, "I don't know why I came. Why I thought I could pray at a time like this. I don't know what I was thinking…"

Almost as if he'd not heard a word of Henry's questioning, the priest looked up at the cross. "I've read some of your work." The priest said. His words were spaced, quiet, and pointed. "So I know you are familiar with C.S. Lewis."

Henry nodded.

"When Lewis was asked why he kept praying for his sick wife who was dying of cancer – a cancer that had spread so far, there was no hope for recovery. His friend asked him why he prayed when it seemed as if God was never changing his mind." The priest leaned forward, touching Henry's shoulder. "Lewis said, 'I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time."

The priest stood up – as if leaving – and said, "'It doesn't change God. It changes me."

Henry felt his heart breaking as he again turned to the cross. He heard the door behind him shut as the priest left the room. Leaving Henry alone.

Maybe his prayer wouldn't change God. Maybe it wouldn't change what was going on. Maybe it wouldn't make everything better. But Henry knew there was nothing else he could do.

"Father…"

* * *

Everyone gathered in the Situation Room – the video feed chopped up to show both the camera from the commander's vest from the helicopter – to the command center. Gathered in the room around the table were all the heads of state – the NSA – the FBI – the CIA – Secretary of Defense.

Each one stood up as Bess walked into the room.

"Rendezvous time: 90 seconds." Admiral Hill informed. Then she connected with Bess – her eyes attempting to hold out hope, "Isabelle's a skilled agent."

Bess knew this. But radio silence for thirteen hours since the shelter that they'd tracked Emma to had blown up.

Conrad added, "If they're alive, Isabelle will get them there."

The words haunted Bess' mind. "If." She said, cold. Hard.

A tech's mechanical tone broke the silence, "Sixty seconds."

* * *

 _Please find her._ Henry prayed. _Please let her be safe._ He wrung his hands together, the wishes of his soul crying out.

 _God, you know how this will destroy Elizabeth if she finds out Emma's been alive this whole time… only to lose her in the process of getting her out._

He felt tears falling down his face, warm, wet – and desperate.

 _She can't handle that pain. That loss. Of knowing the desperate suffering our daughter must have gone through only…_

* * *

"Commander, is there any sign of them?" Bess asked over the telecom. She held her voice strong, as if she was asking for any other mission. Not asking if there was any sign of the daughter she'd lost years before.

The warbled reply over the radio came, "Nothing yet, ma'am."

Admiral Hill added, "We have thirty seconds before we have to pull out – before the insurgents may fire on the team."

Elizabeth kept scanning the treeline on the video – willing for any sign of movement. Begging the trees to move and Isabelle to come out with…

"Fifteen seconds."

* * *

 _Please. God._ Henry begged. _I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't come home. Please. God._

* * *

"Five…"

Bess could count the seconds in her head – like a track that wouldn't stop playing despite all the other thoughts in her head.

 _Come on, Isabelle. Just get through those trees._

Sounds of rapid fire striking metal erupted on the screen. The video feed began to shake as yells from the soldiers on board filled the room.

"Taking fire from the southwest side."

Elizabeth's heart began to break even more. She couldn't take her eyes from the screen. Both because of the action going on, but because she knew the look from Ellen Hill would be to pull everyone out.

"Looks to be insurgents."

Into the headset, Ellen asked, "How many?"

"Ten to twelve."

"Fire back." Elizabeth instructed. And then asked, "Captain, any sign of the…"

"None."

The yells from the soldiers as they carried out the fighting filled the room. But Elizabeth heard Ellen's voice, "Ma'am, we need to get out of there."

Elizabeth stared at the screen. Knowing that every moment she kept the troops there, she was putting them closer and closer to death.

But pulling out sealed the fate of her daughter.

The seconds ticked by. One. After. The Other.

She leaned over the table, her hands holding her up as she bowed her head to think. Her fingers tapped on the table – as if unable to settle the conflict inside of her.

"Bess." Conrad's voice echoed. "You're endangering the lives of the soldiers."

The line of trees stayed completely bare. No sign of movement.

* * *

Wringing his hands, Henry felt the weight of the world hit his shoulders. Nothing entered his mind except the words he prayed. And yet – words were nothing but vehicles. A vehicle for his pain. For his desperation. And nothing could make him stop. As if the words were not his own. But the groaning of his heart.

 _Father, give them time. Protect them. Bring her back. Keep her from harm._

* * *

"Madam President." Ellen's voice held severity. And concern.

Elizabeth look to her advisor. Her advisor who was also a mother. Who would move heaven and earth to protect her children.

The look said everything.

They'd tried. Everything had been done to keep them from getting to this point. They'd sent agents in. They'd staged a rescue. They'd made everything clear for the meeting point. Soldiers had been sent in.

Elizabeth couldn't move. She knew what her duty was. She knew that the radio silence from Isabelle meant only one thing if she wasn't at the rendezvous point. Bess swallowed hard, nodded at Ellen.

* * *

 _God. Bring her back to us._ Henry prayed.

* * *

"Tell them to abort the mission." Her voice sounded presidential. Commanding. Despite the fact that her heart's broken pieces shattered even more than they'd been before.

Ellen nodded, and informed the captain.

As the helicopter began to lift higher into the sky, the treeline moved.

Elizabeth stepped forward as she called out, "Wait, is there…"

Ellen jumped up and into the headset yelled, "Captain. At the line."

Warbled, through the microphone, she heard the captain command the pilot to stop the ascent of the helicopter.

"Affirmative, ma'am." The captain called out, "Agent Barnes and the President's daughter…"

Elizabeth yelled out, "Retrieve them."

Ellen took over, instructing the captain to fire on the insurgents while the helicopter hovered over the tree-line. Once the insurgents were retreating, the helicopter landed.

Elizabeth couldn't take her eyes from the screen. Waiting.

The two figures ran into the copter. Both wore scarves covering their heads, which promptly blew off from the wind from the blades. The captain moved to help them in. And the camera cut out for a second.

"Subjects received safely."

Ellen looked at Elizabeth.

And Elizabeth leaned over the table, toward the microphone. Waiting.

Suddenly she heard Isabelle's voice over the microphone. "Bess, we got her."

The tears began to flow down Elizabeth's cheeks. And she struggled to say, "Izzie, is she safe?"

The whirl of the helicopter blades could be heard in the background as the video feed showed the helicopter pulling up and out over the horizon. The video feed cut out as the captain prepared to return home, but the radio feed continued.

"Do you want to talk to her?" Isabelle asked loudly.

To hear her daughter's voice? To hear with complete confirmation that she was coming home? To hear that she would soon get to hold her in her arms? To hear for sure that they'd beaten the grave?

The headset must've switched heads – because then she heard it.

"I'm coming home."

Elizabeth let out all the air she'd been holding in her chest. For years. She covered her mouth as she closed her eyes. "We've been waiting for you." She managed to choke out.

When the captain took back the radio, he gave an ETA of about thirty minutes to the Air Force Base. Elizabeth knew from there it would be a thirteen-hour flight to the landing strip in DC.

"We'll be waiting, Captain." Ellen signaled before ending the radio call.

Just then, Elizabeth looked up, around the room.

Not a face was dry. Not one of the advisors, well acquainted with war, suffering, and politics, could keep from wiping the tears of happiness from their eyes. A few did it discretely, blinking back tears as if to try and keep from the room that they'd been moved.

"Russell, I need to speak with…"

Russell was halfway out of the door, "I'll have him on the phone…"

Elizabeth stood to follow him. And she saw Conrad. Wiping his eyes. Or struggling to stop the tears that continued to flow.

But there was only one person she wanted to share the news with. Only one she wanted to hold her. Only one she wanted to tell about their daughter's return.

And she turned to the room. And, with every fiber of her body, she said, "Thank you, everyone. You don't know what this means to me."

Ellen met her gaze, and nodded, "Congratulations, Madam President."

Elizabeth hurried out of the room, ready for the phone that Russell handed her.

"Henry?" She called out the minute the phone was to her ear.

"Babe? Honey. What's wrong? Did they…"

And the words tumbled out. Words she'd longed to say. "Henry, she's coming home."

"Oh… Oh…" And she could hear Henry's voice breaking as he whispered, "Thank you, God. Thank you…"

Elizabeth closed her eyes, tears falling down even farther. "Henry. She's coming home. Our baby… she's really coming!"

"Oh, Elizabeth. She is." Henry exclaimed. "I'm on my way to the air-strip now."

Through the tears, Elizabeth smiled and choked out, "Henry, it'll be at least 13 hours until she's…"

"I don't care." Henry interrupted her. "I'm going to sit there and wait for her. I can't stay anywhere until I see her – so I'll be there."

Elizabeth smiled and said, "Henry, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I'll bring the kids." Henry said, "I'll wait to tell them until you're there."

Elizabeth nodded and then whispered, "I love you, Henry." Then added, "She's coming home."

"I love you too. Also, babe?" Henry called out before she hung up, "You've got to talk to Russell. I think he might need…"

At that moment, Elizabeth turned to see her chief of staff next to her. The man who could talk anyone down – who ran people away from him like he was the plague – had slid down the wall, and had his face in his knees. His shoulders shook as he sobbed there.

And she said, "I will, Henry." And she hung up.

Elizabeth knelt down, setting her arm around Russell's shoulders, and said, "Russell?"

And he squeaked out, "Oh, Bess…" And he looked up at her, face streaked with tears. "That crazy pipsqueak is coming home."


	25. Chapter 25

HEY EVERYONE! LOOK FOR MORE TO COME - IM SORRY IF I DIDN'T GET THE WHOLE PLANE AESTHETIC RIGHT - I JUST WANTED TO GET HER HOME AS MUCH AS YOU DID. L ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK - MORE TO COME!

The plane shuddered a bit, enough to jostle Isabelle against the back of her seat. She wished she could close her eyes for just a second to ward off the pounding headache she knew would turn into a migraine the second they landed. It had been so long since she'd been on a military transport plane, and for the time being she missed her quiet little office space settled nicely in CIA headquarters. While the lunchroom sometimes smelled of microwaved fish, there, she didn't have to contend with her stomach twisting and turning with each quick drop of the plane, the jostling that made it extremely hard to keep her neck from stiffening up, and the hard seat the made her lose feeling in her backside hours ago.

But while she would love to curl up on one of the cots and shut out the misery that was this whole ride, one look at the girl sitting across the plane from her – and Isabelle knew she'd never be able to sleep watching Emma.

She sat with her back to the wall, her feet pulled close to her body, hugging her knees. Her eyes, wide, stared off into nothing – but her eyes never closed. The piercing blue eyes that Isabelle remembered seeing from a small toddler always running around getting into trouble – but now it was different.

As the plane tossed again, Isabelle watched Emma grimace and readjust her feet. Emma's eyes closed just a bit – and Isabelle knew she was in pain. From years of working in the CIA, she was an expert at all the signs of pain.

"Emma." Isabelle called out, trying to get the girl's attention. But the engines from the plane made talking from a distance harder. Isabelle herself grimaced as she stood up, feeling yet another reason why she no longer worked in the field – the harrowing escape and running and jumping – all the things that come with missions – had worn her out. But Isabelle grabbed the netting hanging above her for support and slowly walked across to sit next to Emma. She reached over and touched the girl's arm, "Emma, are you hurt?"

Isabelle could feel Emma's muscles tighten up – and she pulled away from Isabelle, shaking her head. No words. No eye contact.

Still sitting next to Emma, Isabelle laid her head back against the wall, thinking through all the ways that Emma could be hurt but not telling her. The girl had refused to let anyone touch her after the helicopter landing while the military transport was being set up. Medics had tried – as they always did on those short stops – to check for anything that could be life threatening – or make the 13-hour plane ride horrific for the passenger. But Emma had just pulled away – even shrieked when someone touched her – and Isabelle had stepped in, knowing that it would be better to just get the girl home – since she hadn't seen any blood or limbs hanging off.

From the headphones Isabelle wore to connect her to the airmen up front – she heard Jackson, the pilot – say, "How's she doing?" Isabelle's trying to communicate with Emma, who didn't have a headset, had concerned them. And, Isabelle thought, it should – since they were transporting the President's daughter back home.

Moving back to her own seat, Isabelle felt comfortable talking where Emma couldn't hear her. "I think she's in pain. Assessing from a distance, I don't think it's life threatening – but the sooner we get her home, the better."

The radio was silent for a second before the pilot responded, "We're about 15 minutes out. Let her know – prepare her for the landing? Air traffic control says they have a medical team standing by."

Isabelle stepped over to Emma and said, "15 minutes until landing. You might want to…" She realized that Emma hadn't unbuckled. Or really moved. Since they'd taken off. "Well, from experience, these landings aren't the most fun. Holding onto the seat sometimes helps."

Emma just nodded. And sat up – again grimacing. Isabelle went back to her own seat, strapped herself in, and returned to work mode. Over the radio, she asked the pilot, "Can you connect me with ATC?"

"10-4."

"Air Traffic Control here."

"Special Agent Barnes here." She stated professionally, despite the fact that her stomach dropped as the plane began descending. "I need to speak with the agent on the ground."

Only a few seconds elapsed between her request and, "Agent Holmes here."

"Grant, I've got a girl here who is exhibiting signs of PTSD, combative towards medics, and in obvious pain. Pulls away to the touch. Pain seeming to stem from her abdomen, left forearm both concealed in clothing." She laid it all out. "I'm authorizing a medical team to use sedatives before debriefing." She knew it wasn't protocol to allow persons from captivity to be put under before a debriefing had happened – just in case they'd lose information. But Emma most certainly was too fragile for the intense questioning that came – especially before receiving medical treatment.

"10-4." Came the response. "At the landing, minimal personnel on the Tarmac?"

"Yes." She said, her entire body beginning to move with the jostling of the plane. "Grant, please get word to the President. Give her this message: Baghdad triage."

"10-4. Over and Out."

The radio then became the hotbed for all the landing codes and instructions. Isabelle tuned them out – again focusing on Emma.

Who through the whole process of the plane's terrifying landing (from Isabelle's point of view) barely flinched. She did hold her stomach, but nothing else. Isabelle had tried to get Emma to change – get her out of the long black dress – one, because then she'd be able to see the injuries on the girl. The second because she knew that the dress would symbolize captivity and subjugation for Bess when she saw her daughter.

But, as with everything, Emma had refused before getting on the plane – not letting anyone touch her.

It wasn't until the plane came to a complete stop that something changed in Emma's face. Instead of just looking exhausted and hurt, now she seemed scared. Her fingernails began to weave in and out of the fabric of the dress – nervousness taking over. She bit her bottom lip – and stared down at her hands. The doors to the cargo opened

"Safe to depart ." Came from the pilot over the headset.

And Isabelle unbuckled and stepped over. Emma just stared ahead. Unmoving.

"Emma, it's ok to be scared." She tried to comfort.

And Emma looked up into Isabelle's eyes – and the quiet words barely touched the air, "What if they don't want me anymore?"

So vulnerable. From a child who'd grown up in captivity – her whole life had completely changed – and now she was expected to walk back into the family that loved her – but had also changed.

And Isabelle put her hand on Emma's covered knee, and whispered back, "I know it's scary. But I've known your mother since before you were born." All the pictures of Bess pregnant with this little girl – visiting Bess on the farm to see Emma toddling out in the field – "And I know that things are going to be different but…" She made sure Emma heard, "But I know that more than anything in the world, your Mom and Dad want you. More than anything."

Emma nodded, blinking tears away from her eyes. And she unbuckled her seatbelt. Took a deep breath. And said, "Will you go first. I just need a minute…"

Isabelle nodded. "I'll wait right on the stairs for you." Emma granted Isabelle a small smile.


	26. Chapter 26

ALMOST THERE - I KNOW IT'S TAKING A BIT - BUT I NEEDED IT TO BE JUST RIGHT. KEEP READING - REVIEW - IM EXCITED WHERE THIS IS GOING - OH AND IT'S FAR FAR FAR FROM OVER.

* * *

Emma stared at her hands, twisting over and over in her lap. She tried to calm herself. She was used to this. She knew how this went. No matter how horrible things were, she had to keep her composure. She'd had to do it so many times.

She had to pretend that everything was fine – that nothing hurt her. That nothing phased her. Without that, survival would've been impossible.

But this felt different. This.

This was everything she'd ever wanted.

Ever since that day that she'd been grabbed on her way to school. She remembered her backpack from that day – the green one – because who would really want a pink one, she'd thought. That was for girls who didn't know that other colors were better.

Her backpack had stayed with her for only a few hours. In the back of the van, she'd cried on it. She forgot how long she'd been in there – but when they ripped her out after the blinding light came in the before darkened van, she'd tried to grab it. But – they'd pulled her out. And stuffed her onto a plane. In the middle of the night.

A plane like this.

Threw her in the corner. Her ears hurt so much – how loud it was – Emma still could feel that pain.

And she'd cried. And wanted nothing more than to see her mom. Her dad. Her brother. Her sisters. Her house. Her mom.

They'd thrown things at her when she asked where the bathroom was. They'd laughed at her when she'd wet herself. She wanted to cry just thinking about it.

But now. Now it felt like a dream.

One that she didn't know if it was a nightmare or a dream come true.

For years she'd lived, hoping for the day, begging for the day to see her family again. She'd cried to Lea, pretending that her arms had been her mother's – wanting nothing more than to have just one more fight with Jason – to go outside and play in the snow with her dad.

She didn't know when she'd stopped hoping. When reality seemed to set it. It just faded out – slowly, like a storm passing in the desert – you didn't know when it really passed, but you knew it when you saw the storm drifting past you into the distance.

Hope hadn't been lost. Maybe just forgotten.

Because she'd become a woman. She'd gotten up before the sun, watered flocks, made breakfast, started fires, washed clothes, dressed and fed children. She'd done everything that a woman in that culture did. And by the time she would climb into her cot at the end of the day, she was too tired.

Too tired for hope.

But here it was. Maybe too good to be true. Because just as she'd become a woman – she'd changed so much – missed so much of her life in America, and had such a hard life in Iran – she wasn't the person she was before. She was not that doe-eyed twelve-year-old child who got into fights because someone called her mother a name.

And what if that was what her family was expecting? What if this different person wasn't who her mother wanted? What if her siblings were still expecting their little sister – not who she was?

What if she wasn't enough – what if she couldn't be what they needed – what if –

What if they weren't the same people? Because if she wasn't – then they sure weren't. How… what if …

Her mother was the president – Isabelle had told her – and while Emma tried to think what that would mean – she knew her mother had to have changed – the mother before wouldn't have ever thought of becoming the president – she'd hated politics.

Did they still have the farmhouse? Did they live at the White House? How had their lives completely changed? Would she fit into that new life?

The thoughts swirled in her head over and over – and what she wanted most at that moment was the one thing that scared her the most.

She wanted something that might not be right outside that door. She wanted assurance that everything would be fine. She wanted to be sure that they'd love her. She wanted her memory to be correct – that her mom would always love her – that her dad would brush his hand through her messy curly hair and call her some funny name, make a dad joke, and then give her a hug in which she would never ever doubt that he loved her.

And the thought that it might not be true was enough to crush her.

* * *

"Ma'am, I cannot let you out onto the Tarmac until the plane has landed."

Bess tried to keep her eyes from rolling, as she stood there, watching from the hangar. "Seriously? Do you think the pilot who has just flown thirteen hours is going to suddenly decide to take out the President of the United States by crashing the plane into me?" She stared at her Security Guard. "Mike, really?"

"Protocol." He said. "Ma'am, you know I'd let you out there in a heartbeat if it wasn't for the protocol. But with it being dark… its…"

She understood, nodded, and instead walked over to where Henry sat, on the ground, with a sleeping Allison on his shoulder.

"She's been like this for about three hours." Henry whispered. Then he patted the ground, "Sit?"

"Let her sleep." But Bess shook her head, taking in a deep breath. "I can't." Another deep breath, "I would if…." It was so late – the floodlights brightened the whole hanger – but everyone was exhausted. And her mind felt foggy.

Henry nodded. Then he relayed information he'd told her over the phone about three times. "Jason is on his way back from his weekend trip… and Stevie is flying in tomorrow."

"Oh Henry, I hope…" The doubt began to grapple with her brain as she turned to pace. She'd kept it at bay. She'd tried as hard as possible. Not that there wasn't enough to keep her busy as the President of the United States, so she'd been successful in pushing away the pain all day long.

Bess wrapped her arms around her as she paced, blocking out all the people there waiting. Blake. Daisy. Nadine. Matt. Jay.

Instead she walked. Paced.

Isabelle said it was her. It had looked like Emma on the plane. But what if someone had been trying to fool them? Tried to get them involved in Iran by posing someone who looked just like her daughter would've looked like four years after her death.

What if… what if…

All Bess had wanted – for years – was for this moment. To be here, to be able to hold her daughter. To pull her in and whisper that she'd never let anything else happen to her little girl. To check in on her after putting her to bed – to watch her breathe – to hear her laugh again – to be Emma's mother again.

And yet. It all seemed too good to be true. Too much – too… perfect.

"Madam President."

Bess ignored whoever it was. Instead she closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to hold her little girl again – yet not a little girl – but her Emma. The little girl that had been lost. And yet was coming home.

"Bess." Russell's voice jarred her out of her head, and Bess looked up to find her chief of staff standing there with someone she didn't recognize.

"This is Agent Grant."

Mechanically, Bess stretched out her hand to shake his as the man began to speak. "Ma'am, I'm Speical Agent Grant with the CIA."

Russell muttered, "I just said that."

"I've been in contact with Agent Barnes on the plane."

And Bess immediately asked, "What did she say?"

"She wanted me to give you a message." He paused, then said, "She said, 'Tell the President: Baghdad Triage.' That's all I have…"

But Bess was miles away by now.

* * *

YEARS BEFORE

"Bess, come on. You know you need to go see the doctor." Isabelle urged her. "You've been sick for so long and…"

They were walking down the make-shift street that the Base had there in Baghdad.

"Izzie, I'm fine. It's just a stomach bug…" Bess said, thinking her friend just a little bit too over the top. "It's fine I'm…"

The bomb went off. Just a few yards away. Bess felt her body thrown against the ground after flying through the air. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't hear. Could do nothing.

* * *

Bess remembered that day like it was yesterday. The triage after had been a nightmare. People dying, people begging to be helped but they were too far gone.

And Bess and Izzie had been with them all – trying to save and help.

But too many died.

And after.

Only after – sitting on her cot that night – that she'd raised her undershirt and found bruised ribs, a cut that had bled through her first shirt – she'd broken four ribs. And hadn't known it. Hadn't acknowledged it. And they'd given her medication to put her under – because she refused to acknowledge that she needed help. Others did.

She told Agent Grant. "The medical team? Is it standing by?"

She knew what Izzie was trying to tell her.

"Yes, Ma'am."

By this time, Henry had jumped up – "Babe, what's wrong… what's?"

And she turned to him, trying to keep her fear of what had happened to the girl form overtaking her. She knew she was losing it. She called over the sound of the plane landing, "Isabelle thinks she might be hurt."

Her face was composed, but her fingernails digging into Henry's hands gave it away. His own concern flooded his face, and he pulled her close to him. She could feel his heart beating as he whispered, "But she's here. She's home."

Allison, now awake, came and stood by them as they watched the plane door open. "She's here, Mom."

Bess leaned over and kissed her daughter's head. "She is." And how Bess hoped she was.

Then, after a few minutes, where whispering began from her staff behind her, about why no one was coming out. Bess just gripped Henry closer. Please let it be her, she whispered.


	27. Chapter 27

HERE IT IS.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. OH - AND YES. THERE'S MUCH MORE TO COME.

* * *

Henry felt his wife's hand clutching tighter to him, as she laid her head on his shoulder from behind – as if sheltering herself from what could be pain. What could be disappointment.

He simply leaned into her more, trying to reassure her that it would be ok.

And how he hoped it would be.

The floodlights on the Tarmac kept the darkness at bay, and Henry was amazed to see all the people who were there.

Daisy had refused to alert the press – knowing that this moment needed to be a moment only for them. But Elizabeth's staff were there – all of her and his security guards – Allison – former staff. He couldn't overlook the medical team in the corner – yet another reminder that this was not all happiness.

Elizabeth tensed as Isabelle stepped out of the plane onto the stairs. She was walking, a little slower than normal – but she then assumed a position of waiting.

"Where is she?" Elizabeth asked, as her body tightened up, knowing there was no answer Henry could give. Henry instead just rubbed her hand with his thumb.

Then Allison's voice hit his ears, "Dad, where is she? Why isn't…"

Then Isabelle held up a finger – just to wait a minute. And Henry tried to defuse the situation by whispering to Elizabeth, "Just give her a minute. This has got to be hard for her too…"

"Oh Henry… what if she's not ok?" He could hear the catch in his wife's voice. "What if…"

And Henry looked behind him just a second – a split second – to see Conrad Dalton in the shadows. Standing there – watching. The man put his hand up and stepped back – as if showing that he knew to give them space. And Henry nodded his agreement.

"Henry…" Elizabeth gasped. And he turned back. "Henry…"

"Dad!" Allison whispered.

* * *

The lights felt like fire after the darkness of the cargo plane. Emma squinted, pulling back into the plane.

Could she do this? What…

And she heard Isabelle's voice, "Hey, I'm here – I'll walk with you."

And Emma looked to her like a lifeline. Her entire body shook as she let Isabelle take her hand. She focused on stepping down the stairs, lifting the hem of her dress with her free hand. Her lips quivered. The metal steps felt cool on her bare feet. A gently breeze flew across her face, and she brushed her curls behind her ears.

It wasn't until she touched the ground that she finally looked from her feet to the people standing across the way.

Multiple people. Groups. Her eyes moved fast… terrified.

What if she couldn't recognize them? What if…

Past men in suits – past a woman in a bright colored coat – past the doctors…

Tears filled her eyes as one of her greatest fears came true – what if she didn't even know her own family? What if…

And suddenly.

Suddenly her fears fell away. And the years floated away just out of grasp.

There her mom stood – wrapped in her dad's arms.

"Mom." She whispered, her throat constricting as tears came to her face.

The pain and suffering evaporated from that moment. Her heart began to beat faster – but for something she'd never thought would happen. It wasn't fear of being caught. It wasn't terror grasping her body refusing to let go every morning waking up in captivity.

Suddenly she was that child again.

That child she'd envied for years.

Her lips quivered and she knew she should run to them. She knew she should fling herself up into their arms and never let go.

But the emotions overruled her body. She couldn't move. Because it just had to be too good to be true. Her mom and dad were here. She was home.

* * *

Bess knew it the moment she saw her step out of the plane.

She'd known.

The blond hair, so long and curly blowing in the wind, tried to hide her face, but Bess knew.

The tall frame, covered in a long sleeved black dress, seemed so desperately different from the little girl that Bess had kissed on the forehead that morning years before.

But it wasn't until after the girl scanned the crowd quickly – looking – like a starving child looking for food – looking for survival – it wasn't until the moment that their eyes met.

Then. Bess knew. Deep. Past the skepticism. Past the unbelief. Past the wall she'd put up completely refusing to allow hope to come in. Refusing to be let down again. Refusing to hurt again.

Bess knew.

And at that moment, Bess took off running. Past the security guards. Across the expanse of concrete. She needed to hold her.

"Mom."

To hear that word from her little girl. From the girl who'd been dead. Who they'd had a funeral for – who they'd grieved for – Bess couldn't breathe.

Yet she ran. All the while calling, "Emma. Emma. Emma!"

And then.

She wrapped her arms around her daughter, pulling her into her chest. Feeling her against her. Burrowing her face into her hair. Squeezing her. Holding her tight. Tears fell into Emma's hair from Bess' face. Bess' fingers clutched onto her baby.

"Emma!"

And she felt her daughter's body shaking in her arms, as sobs racked Emma's body. Bess held her closer. "Mommy's here. I've got you, baby."

Bess felt Emma's arms around her, clinging, grasping to her.

"Mom. Mom!" Came the breathless cries from the girl wrapped in Bess' arms.

Bess pulled away, only a little, to look into Emma's eyes. Those blue eyes she'd know anywhere. To see her nose that curved up in the same way.

Years had changed Emma's face – a few wrinkles, lines – worry – tears fell out of Emma's eyes - but Bess simply sobbed and kissed Emma's forehead. "You're home, baby girl. You're safe."

Bess heard Henry beside her. "Em!" And Bess let Emma go – only for a second – to watch Henry pull Emma into a hug, and tears lined his face – along with a beautiful smile. "Oh, my girl, you're home."

And Emma laid her head on Henry's chest, clinging for dear life, as she cried, "Please don't let go, Dad."

And Henry looked at Bess, and he then leaned down and kissed Emma's head, "Em, you're not going anywhere. You're stuck here now."

"Hey. Let me through."

Bess stepped aside to watch Allison embrace Emma – two sisters separated for years – now almost the same height – finding each other yet again.

And Bess let the sobs come. Let the feelings of relief and pent up tension come. She wrapped her arms around herself, and cried. Henry pulled her close, whispering, "She's home, babe. She's here."

Emma stepped away from Allison and touched Bess' arm. "Mom, I'm home."

Because words wouldn't come with Bess' cries, she simply held her little girl – held her close – and vowed to never let go.


	28. Chapter 28

HEY AGAIN GUYS! I'M SO GLAD EVERYONE'S ENJOYING THIS - GOT TO ADD THE ANGST IN THERE A BIT. DON'T TUNE OUT - I'D SAY WE'RE NOT EVEN CLOSE TO HALFWAY THROUGH THIS STORY. SO - KEEP UP THE REVIEWING - IF YOU'D LIKE TO CHAT ABOUT THE STORY - SEND ME A PRIVATE MESSAGE! I LOVE CONNECTING WITH MY READERS! STAY SAFE OUT THERE!

* * *

Bess watched Emma in Henry's arms – watched how close they were – how connected her family seemed at that moment. She knew the two other kids would be at the house within the day – and she'd get to see them all together.

But as Bess watched Emma, she saw the shivers start, and immediately, Bess realized that Emma was there, in bare feet, just a dress on.

"Honey, you're cold…" Bess immediately started to take her coat off, but just at that moment, Henry began to do the same thing.

"Here, I'm not that cold anyway." Henry said.

Then Bess felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to find Isabelle standing next to the medical team.

"Bess, she needs to be treated…" Isabelle said with a knowing look. Bess could read it. There was something wrong.

And she turned to Emma, who was now wrapped in Henry's coat, and she said, "Em, there are some doctors here who want to just check you out and…" As Bess talked, Emma froze, looking past her to the doctors. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. Bess tried to reassure her, "Em, I'll be right here. They're safe, and they're not..."

Emma backed up again, and said, "No, there's nothing wrong. I just want to go home. I'm fine."

Bess wanted desperately to believe her daughter, because she wanted to take her family home. She overlooked her knowledge about the situation and turned to Isabelle, "Do you think we could take her home and go see…"

Bess' words flattened out as Isabelle shook her head. "No, Bess. There could be something serious wrong."

Bess knew she was right. Isabelle looked at her with a purposeful look, and said, "They might need to restrain her."

All Bess could do was take a deep breath, turn back to Emma, who was still shaking her head, looking at Henry and begging him to just take her home. "I don't want to go. They can't make me. I can't…"

Bess closed her eyes and said to Isabelle, "Ok."

Then Bess walked over to Emma, and set her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Emma."

Emma kept looking behind Bess, trying to keep track of the doctors. Bess could feel Emma's breathing speeding up, her face was pale, her eyes narrowed and terrified.

"Emma." She said calmly until Emma looked at her, "I'm going to be right here. They're going to just check you out, take you to a hospital, but I won't leave. I promise."

Tears ran down Emma's bright face. She shook her head and whispered, "I can't. I can't go. They'll take me… I can't…"

The whispers turned to screams – irrational screams – as the doctors came behind Bess, and one of them said, "We just need to take a look and make sure…"

Bess held onto Emma's hand as she began to scream and pull away. But she lost hold as Emma was surrounded by doctors and nurses, who kept reassuring as they tried to put her onto the stretcher. They tried for a few minutes, with Bess and Henry trying to tell her everything would be fine.

But Bess knew when they pulled out the needle, when they put it into Emma's skin – Bess knew it was too much.

Emma just shook her head as her body involuntarily stopped resisting. But the fear never left Emma's eyes, and she locked eyes with Bess as they laid her down on the stretcher. The terror was a realized terror – as if she knew something bad was going to happen.

Bess rushed past the nurses and held Emma's hand, "Em, I'm right here."

Henry was beside her in only a second, and said, "We'll be right here."

Tears leaked down the sides of Emma's face, and she just laid there.

Then Isabelle began to fill the doctors in. "She's been favoring her abdomen. Right side. Her arm seems to have a bit of dried blood coming through the dress, and she's barely moved her left hand."

Bess ran along with the stretcher, Henry close behind to be with Allison. The security guards never left Bess more than a few feet. As they ran to the ambulance, the doctor began to cut off Emma's dress at the waste.

And Bess took in a deep breath as she saw Emma's abdomen. A bruise stretched across from the top of her ribs to her hip bone. Every bone could be seen through Emma's skin. And her skin was riddled with dark scars.

"Call ahead to the hospital. I need to be able to run a CT scan on her."

"Have the orthopedic surgeon on call." One doctor said as he looked at Emma's bent wrist as he inserted an IV.

"BP is 60 over 45." A nurse said.

"Have the blood transfusion team waiting."

"Temp is 103.4." Another nurse said.

Bess tried to file it all away in her mind. What were they thinking it was…

But they'd reached the ambulance that was standing there. And Bess jumped to get in after they'd slid the stretcher in.

Her security guard touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry Ma'am, but…"

And she turned around like a Mama Bear and hissed, "I'm not leaving her. You're gonna have to deal with this, Mike."

But Mike just shook his head, "Ma'am. I can't let you. The vehicle's not been inspected, the route hasn't been pre-approved. It will take longer for us to do that than to just let them go and we'll follow them…"

Bess opened up her mouth to argue, but Henry came and took her hand, "Babe, I'll go with and you just follow right behind."

Tears again came to Bess' eyes as she whispered, "I don't want to leave her…"

"I'll be right with her, ok?" And Bess looked into the eyes of the only man she'd ever trusted like that. And she knew he was right.

"Ok. But…" And hse turned to one of the doctors, "What are you thinking it is? What is…"

"Madam President, I can't say for certain, but it looks like she has some internal bleeding, might be close to going into shock, and some other things. Those are the ones we're the most concerned about. We're going to give her a blood transfusion right away once we find where the bleeding is coming from."

Bess would've fallen over from fright if she hadn't had Henry standing there with her. And she nodded, and told the doctor, "Take care of her. Don't let her go."

She hurried Allison along, making sure that Henry was inside the ambulance before she shut her door – and as the ambulance left, she told Mike, "This'll be the last time I EVER listen to you if you lose that vehicle, you hear me?"

Mike chuckled, and said, "Yes, Ma'am."

And Bess leaned back, trying to breathe as the vehicle moved. She felt a small hand take her own, and she looked down to see Alison.

"Mom, it's going to be alright." Alison said.

Bess nodded, leaning down and kissing Alison's head. And she hoped it would be.


	29. Chapter 29

SO MANY UPDATES. IT'S ALMOST TIME. ANYWAY. I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS.

PLEASE KNOW THAT THERE IS MENTION OF SOME TRAUMATIC THINGS - PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION.

AS ALWAYS - I LOVE HEARING FROM YALL! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING, FEELING, OR WANT TO THINK OR FEEL!

* * *

"Ma'am?"

Bess stirred. Not from sleeping. Dear lord she wished she could sleep. Not that the uncomfortable chair they'd set up in one of the rooms would allow her to.

Every muscle in her neck ached as she sat her head up to look – finding Blake standing there in the doorway to the make-shift office her staff had erected at the hospital. He held a folder.

"Yes, Blake?" She mumbled, slowly trying to focus more on what was at hand.

And not focus on her little girl.

He stuttered for a second, "Ma'am, we got this folder for…" He reached over and handed it to her, and she took it, careful not to stir Henry beside her, where he slept, head against the wall behind him, looking incredibly uncomfortable. But Bess was just glad that he was getting some sleep.

She took it, and then took the glasses that Blake handed her. "What am I looking at here?"

"It's Isabelle's debrief." He paused for a moment, "And, she… she said…"

Bess jumped just a little when the voice came from behind them.

"You don't have to read that." Bess looked up and saw Isabelle, standing in the doorway. Her friend looked exhausted, but she looked good if she'd just finished hour long debrief session. Her hair tucked behind her ears, Isabelle suddenly looked her age, almost like Bess felt. "I'll save you the trouble of reading it."

Bess cleared her throat, "Tell me."

Isabelle walked past Blake, who graciously stepped out of the room again – but Bess knew he'd be close if she needed him. But Isabelle sat down on the chair across from Bess'.

It took her friend a minute to clear her mind – to adjust to the seat – but Bess knew she was trying to figure out how to tell her.

"First, tell me. How's she doing? What's the doctor saying?"

Bess' eyes closed in a bit of defeat. And exhaustion. "She's in surgery now. The doctor said she was bleeding internally, and they had to go in and surgically stop the bleeding."

"I'm sorry." Isabelle comforted, laying her hand on Bess' knee. "Did they…" 

Bess continued, "They said it should be ok, barring any other complications." She looked up at her friend and whispered, "I just can't lose her."

Isabelle nodded, understanding. "Bess, she's a fighter, just like her mother. If anyone has a fighting chance, it's that miracle child."

Bess again nodded, then asked, "What happened, Isabelle?"

Isabelle began, "I found her in the compound. She was… hurt, but strong. I lost contact with the rest of the squad, but…"

Bess needed to know, "What were the conditions like?"

"Um. Bess, I don't think you want to know." They made eye contact, and Bess urged her on. Reluctantly, Isabelle continued, "It was a small compound. Men were housed in different rooms than what they were keeping her in. She was in a very small… cell. Tied hands. Free feet. She… it looked like…" Isabelle seemed to be having trouble saying it, "She was very disheveled."

"Don't." Bess commanded. "Tell me like it was. Don't sugarcoat it for me." She couldn't not know. She needed the details. Needed to know what her little girl went through.

There was a moment of silence. As Isabelle weighed out the command.

"The reason I got into the cell was because there was a man coming out after… violating her."

Bess couldn't move. She couldn't move anything but her hands, which clenched along the arms of the chair. Strangling them.

"I shot him in the head."

Her little girl.

"Then, because I couldn't make contact with the squad, I knew we had to get out – to get out before the gunshot drew others in. So we escaped out a window – but it was night."

Bess still couldn't say anything.

"Emma led me to safety – even wrapping my headscarf correctly so when we ran into someone in the small city, she could talk her way out of it. She spoke like a native. Kept her cool."

Nothing.

"We had to hide, and when the compound blew up, I knew we had to hide until the rendezvous."

Finally, when Bess could speak, she whispered, "Did she say anything about…" All she could think of were the scars riddling Emma's torso – the broken wrist that had never healed – the amount of pain she'd had to go through.

Isabelle shook her head. "I knew she needed medical attention on the plane – before then, I couldn't really tell at all that she was in pain. And we spent days together." Isabelle put her head in her hands. "If I would've known – if she would've shown any sign – I would've stopped right there. I would've had them sedate her right away at the transport. Bess – I'm so…"

But Bess tuned her out as the doctor came in.

Her world became a tunnel – focused on him. Her baby had to be ok. And she asked, "Is she ok? Is she…"

Henry startled away beside her.

"Madam President, your daughter is going to be fine."

Bess thought it was too good to be true. And she felt Henry grab her arm.

"There was a lot of blood, and quite a bit of scar tissue, which made the surgery take longer. But she's going to need a lot of rest." Bess squeezed Henry's hand. "And, from what the recovery nurses tell me, she's asking for you."

Bess felt tears of happiness coming to her eyes, and she nodded. And breathlessly whispered, "Thank you, so much."

The doctor smiled, "Would you like to see her?"


End file.
